is the end
by kaut
Summary: Sequel to "The end is the beginning" Sort of an alternate season 9 - conceived before the season started. Angst warning. Rated M for some language.
1. Chapter 1

_... is the end_

**Disclaimer: CSI is**** not mine.**

_Cowardice asks the question, "Is it safe?" Expediency asks the question, "Is it politic?" Vanity asks the question, "Is it popular?" But conscience asks the question, "Is it right?" And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because one's conscience tells one that it is right._

_- Martin Luther King Jr._

Chapter 1

Politics. Politicians. Political. Politic. Politick. Politicos. Ever since the sheriff had announced his decision not to rerun, the city, the police department, the lab were all flooded with every form of the word. Grissom sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his eyes, wishing he didn't have to worry about the chaos around him. Things at the lab were tense. He felt the pressure. His whole team felt the pressure. Both Under Sheriff McKeen, who had announced his intention to run for sheriff, and Ecklie, who supported McKeen's candidacy, as Ecklie had political aspirations of his own, were placing the criminalists under intense pressure. As the eminent CSI at the lab, he felt most of that strain being placed on him.

He took a deep breath and stared down at the files in front of him. Both Ecklie and McKeen had demanded that the CSIs focus their importance on the open serial case, without dropping the ball on their other open cases. Ever since McKeen had announced his candidacy, the under sheriff had been trying to push his team into closing cases with expediency rather than taking the time to analyze the evidence properly. Grissom resisted, fought the under sheriff on the issue, and insisted that the under sheriff back off and let his criminalists do their jobs, accurately. He wasn't about to let anyone interfere with his team or potentially hurt any cases they were investigating, just because the under sheriff wanted quick, easy, speedy resolutions. That didn't stop the under sheriff from pushing. The pressure to close the serial case was just more evidence of the under sheriffs focus on expediency. McKeen wanted, rather, needed, to look good in front of the public. The man wanted to catch a serial killer while he was campaigning.

Grissom was so tired of it all. He was tired of the politics and of the career aspirations of his colleagues. The only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that in four days he would be away from it all. In four days, he would be in San Francisco with Sara. She'd wanted to return to Vegas for his birthday but he decided he'd rather go to her and get away from Vegas and its politics and the people who were undermining the integrity of his profession. In San Francisco, he could leave the politics behind. He could focus on Sara and only Sara. He could get lost in her again. Just thinking about it made him feel better.

He hadn't seen her in two months, not since she had flown back to the Bay City after Warrick's funeral. He had tried, several times, to take a few days off and see her, but Vegas was Vegas and work kept getting in the way. The under sheriff's campaign and insistence on Grissom's presence hadn't helped matters. Finally, he'd decided to tell Ecklie and the under sheriff he was taking a week off, non-negotiable. After all, the under sheriff wouldn't want the public to think that their favorite candidate for sheriff would deny him the chance to visit his fiancé on his birthday. Yes, Vegas was overrun with politics and as much as he hated to do it, he could play that game too.


	2. Chapter 2

_The good, the bad, hardship, the joy, the tragedy, love and happiness are all interwoven into one single, indescribable whole that's called life. You cannot separate the good and the bad, and perhaps there is no need to._

_- Jacqueline Kennedy_

Chapter 2

He had dinner with Jessica again that night. In her, he'd found an amazing friend. For two months, he'd taken her to dinner, watched movies with her in his apartment, went for walks, but he had yet to make a move. He loved hanging out with her. She was understanding and patient and would listen to him unload on everything that was bothering or upsetting him. He could talk to her about the pain he felt and the fears he had. She was so special and Nick loved the friendship they had developed. He wondered if he should take the next step and make his move. He'd guessed that she was way too shy to make a move herself, and that she was waiting on him to decide where to take their relationship. A part of him hoped she was waiting on him to offer more than friendship. Another part of him hoped she wasn't looking for anything more. He was attracted to her and felt himself beginning to care for her. At the same time, he didn't want to ruin the friendship they had formed. He also wasn't sure that any relationship he started at this moment, would last. So far, she'd been understanding and had given him the space he needed to sort out his feelings.

As Nick continued the debate in his head, he shifted his gaze from the highway, over to her. She sat silently, staring out the window with a soft smile playing across her lips. He decided he wouldn't worry about figuring out their relationship right now. He was enjoying things the way they were.

Nick pulled up to Jessica's apartment and stepped out to walk her to the entrance. He stopped at the steps and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight Jess."

"Goodnight Nick."

"Thanks for coming to dinner with me."

She smiled warmly. "Thanks for dinner. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, how about renting a movie tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'd like that."

"Great. Call me when you get off work." He smiled at her, then turned around and headed back to his car. He drove home and readied himself for shift, before returning to his car and heading into work. His thoughts were on work as he drove to the lab. It was a place where everything still reminded him of Warrick. Before Warrick was murdered, he used to like coming in a bit early and hanging out with the members of his team. Now, he waited until the last possible minute to leave for shift, and every time he made the drive, his mood would drop. When he made it to the lab, he would grab his assignment and head straight out, avoiding the breakroom except for when he received assignments. It had been over two months since his best friend had died and the lab still did not have any leads. Every time he walked through the labs halls or opened his locker, the same locker Warrick had used, he thought about Warrick and silently prayed they'd catch his killer. Going into work was just another reminder of the man they all lost. He wanted to move on but it was so hard to do after losing Warrick the way they had.

A block away from the lab, he pulled up to a red light. While waiting for the light to change, he took a moment to close his eyes and prepare himself for the lab. As his eyes shut, his nose picked up Jessica's lingering scent. His thoughts moved from the lab, back to his evening and to Jessica's warmth. He drove the rest of the way in with a smile on his face.

* * *

"Is that everything?"

He looked across the desk of Deputy DA Madeline Klein and sighed. "Yeah, that's all."

"Grissom, you do realize you've given me nothing."

"I know."

"And yet, you're sure there is a mole in the police department?"

"I'm sure." He ran his hand through his hair, trying to come up with an explanation. In two months, he hadn't quite managed to convince Maddie Klein of his suspicions. He knew that so far, she was only willing to go along with him because of a certain trust and loyalty she had towards him, that and he'd never strung her along on an absurd hunting expedition before. He looked over at her. "Somebody with power had Daniel Pritchard kill Lou Gedda. I believe that same person either killed Warrick, or had him killed."

"I agree, but why does this person have to be in the department?"

"Somebody knew everything that was going on at the lab and the police department. For that person to know that much information, he had to be high up on the chain. Daniel Pritchard was a beat cop. He couldn't have supplied Gedda with the information we think Gedda received."

"You've told me all that, but you still haven't given me anything to go on."

"I know. Whoever the mole is, he didn't get to where he is by not being able to cover his tracks. We're looking for a dirty cop in a position of power. It's not easy to look inside the department without tipping that person off."

"You really should let IA handle this."

Grissom shook his head. "No, I don't know who to trust there."

"So you're running your own investigation."

"It's all I can do."

"Okay, Grissom. If you want my help, you need to get me something. If you don't, there's nothing I can do."

He sighed and nodded. "I know. I'm working on it."

Maddie Klein leaned back in her chair and let out a loud, long sigh. "Christ Gil, do you realize there is an election soon? Do you even know what you're doing?"

"I'm trying to catch a dirty cop and I need your help, Maddie."

"Jesus Christ, why did I have to quit drinking? I could really use a few shots right now." He watched as she shook her head. "Get me something and I'll make sure it sees a Grand Jury."

"Thank You."

"Don't thank me; I've always wanted to stir things up around an election. Maybe I can put my own life in danger again." Grissom grimaced. "Don't. If anything, it's your life on the line and if that's okay with you than it is just fine with me. Just get me something. I wouldn't mind cleaning up the department either."

"Maddie…"

"Don't Grissom. We'll set up a meeting for later this week and you can try to convince me once again, why I am doing this. Let's meet again on Friday, unless you get something sooner."

"I won't be here on Friday."

"You won't be here Friday?"

"No, I'm going out of town on Thursday. I'll be gone a week. I'll come by Thursday morning."

"You're going away for a week?"

"Yeah."

"What, you've got a seminar, or some sort of bug race to go to?"

"No, I'm going on vacation."

"You're taking a vacation? You?"

Grissom smirked at her disbelief. "Yeah."

"Right now?"

"On Thursday."

"Okay, I'll bite. Where the hell are you going?"

He smiled. "I'm going to see my soul mate."

"Really? So I guess you are just a classic enabler."

"I guess so."

"Well then, enjoy your time with the lovely Miss Sidle, then get your ass back here so we can find your mole."

Grissom raised his eyebrows and smiled. "You'll make time for me on Thursday?"

"Yeah, I'll make time."

After leaving Madeline Klein's office, Grissom drove to the lab. He picked up assignments and messages from Judy before heading to his office. He looked over the single slip, trying to decide who he'd send out and who would stay at the lab with him, choosing to remain in the lab so that he didn't get involved in any big case before he left to see Sara. A knock on his door caused his to look up. "Why hello, Conrad."

"Grissom, you've got a busy night. A nightclub on Flamingo just pancaked. They don't know how many are dead or injured yet."

"Great." Grissom knew his plans for staying in the lab were out. He'd have to give Catherine the lead.

"What else have you got?"

"A 419 in North Las Vegas."

"So you won't get a chance to look at the serial tonight?"

"Not anymore."

"Have you found anything new?"

He looked up at Ecklie, watching as the man hovered over his desk. "Not in the three weeks since Ava Lopez was killed."

"Maybe we should ask the FBI in on this."

"No, absolutely not. We'll find him by studying him. We have a general profile worked out."

"What do you know about him?"

"We think he's somewhere between 30 and 40 years old. He doesn't stalk his victims before hand. He chooses the women from their hotel the same night he rapes and kills them. He's strong. He was able to knock Matt Klein out and hang him without creating any noise. He's fast. He kills the woman before they even know what's going on. He uses an object to rape them. He's confident. He takes the time to clean up his crime scenes and pose the bodies. He hasn't left behind any evidence. We aren't sure how he enters or exits; he doesn't use the elevator."

"That's all you know about him."

Grissom frowned. "We're working on it."

"I think we could move faster if we asked the FBI for help."

"No, Conrad. The last time the FBI helped us on a serial, they used Sara as bait. They don't care whose lives they risk."

"They won't be risking Sara's anymore."

He could feel his pulse rising as he fought to stay in control. "That's beside the point."

"You seemed to have worked well with Jack Malone."

"Jack Malone was an exception."

"Do I need to remind you that the under sheriff wants this resolved? We're under a lot of pressure here. The press has been all over this last night and this morning. Someone leaked details of the crimes and it's all over the news. The public is going to want a resolution. You need to find one fast."

Grissom sighed. He was losing the strength to fight back. "Conrad, you've worked as a CSI. You know we can only go where the evidence leads us, and this guy isn't leaving any evidence."

"Look, just catch this guy before he kills someone else."

Grissom bit back a response and nodded. After waiting for Ecklie to leave, he opened the files in front of him.

* * *

Catherine made her way through the halls of the lab and watched as Conrad Ecklie exited Grissom's office. She passed Ecklie and offered a polite nod before knocking on Grissom's door frame. She walked in the open door as he looked up. He had a file in his hands. She moved to the desk, leaned over and peered down at the file. "Serial murder case?"

"Yeah."

She sat down across from him and took a different file from his desk. She flipped it open and glanced at its contents. "Find anything new?"

"No." As she sat, she watched Grissom flip through the remaining files. "Cath, what's the commonality? He preys on women, all under the age of 35. They were all killed in their hotel rooms. Two of the women, plus Matt Klein, were locals. The rest of the women were tourists, so we know he isn't targeting these women specifically, or at least, not in advance. They have to be crimes of opportunity. He sees them in the hotel and follows them to their rooms, slits their throats, rapes them, all before posing their bodies and slicing his tally marks into their backs. How does he select his victims? Does he hang out at hotels, searching for his next victim?"

"He has to, unless the victims all went to the same place the day they died."

"They didn't. We've checked on that. Besides, he'd have to know their room numbers. He must pick them out at the hotel or hotel's casino. Searching for a random person in a casino is next to impossible. Archie's been using his spare time to go through surveillance to try to see if he can compare people, but we only have surveillance from the last two scenes. He's going cross-eyed searching for a needle in a haystack."

"Well," She dropped the file in her hand and picked up another, "our killer doesn't work at the hotel, unless he's worked at four different hotels in the past nine months."

"That's not likely. What about someone who works at multiple hotels? Who works at more than one hotel?"

"I don't know." She thought for a moment. "Entertainers? Some will do a month stint at a hotel before moving onto another."

"I'll ask Brass to see if any local entertainers were working at all four hotels during the time of the murders."

She leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "Do you really think the Pharaoh Killer could be one of Vegas's entertainers?"

"It's possible. Entertain a crowd of tourists, then wind down by raping and killing someone." He paused. "Pharaoh Killer?"

Catherine snickered. "Yeah, don't you watch the news? That's what that journalist…Mark Hayden, named the serial. Somehow the press got wind that the cuts on the victims backs were tally marks. Hayden coined the name because of origination of tally marks."

"That's what Ecklie was referring too. He told me the press was all over the case last night. He didn't mention the fact that the press had found out about the tally marks or named the serial. When did you hear this?"

"I saw it on the news this morning, but apparently it was on last night as well. The leak must have happened yesterday."

"Oh. I missed the news this morning. The press coined him "The Pharaoh Killer'?"

"Yep."

She could see the tension building in Grissom. His hand combed through his hair and moved to the back of his neck. "It bothers me when they do that. It just serves to empower the killer. This killer is all about attention. Why else would he carve tally marks into the victims' backs. He must be loving the recent press coverage."

"There's nothing we can do about it now. Someone spilled the details and our serial is now the 'Pharaoh Killer'."

"Mark Hayden named him?"

"Apparently."

"Figures. Hayden's working under a misguided assumption. The Ishango Killer would have been a more appropriate name."

"Ishango Killer?"

"Yes, after the Ishango Bone. Contrary to popular belief, evidence shows that the first tally marks did not appear in Ancient Egypt. There have been other, older artifacts that contained evidence of tally marks. The most compelling being the Ishango Bone. It was found in 1960, in the Congo, by Jean de Heinzelin. The bone was carved with tally marks and dates back eighteen to twenty thousand years, at least thirteen thousand years prior to the tally marks of Ancient Egypt."

"How do you know all this?" She studied him. Of course Grissom would know all of that. Why was she questioning where his knowledge came from? "Never mind. As much as I'd like to exchange witty banter on the Ishenga Bone, or whatever you called it, that isn't the reason I came in here."

"Sorry Catherine, what are you here for?"

"Assignments. Everybody's waiting in the break room."

"Oh, right. Tell them I'll be right there."

"Hurry." She threw down the file and stood up. She glanced back to see Grissom flip through another file. "Gil..."

"I'll be right there."

She shook her head and left the office, making her way into the break room. When she entered, she took a moment to glance around at the team. She frowned when she saw Nick, silently sitting and playing with a loose thread. When she had left in search of Grissom earlier, Nick had been smiling. It hadn't been a huge smile, but it was a smile, none-the-less. Now, he looked distant. Catherine could never tell how Nick's moods would be anymore. She gazed at him sympathetically and wondered where all the life in him had disappeared to. Nick was not the same man. He hardly smiled anymore. She and Greg had been watching out for him, spending lots of time talking to him and getting him out when they could. He was getting better, but the only time when she ever saw him truly smile was whenever she caught him talking to the red headed waitress she recognized from the diner they used to frequent. Nick wouldn't tell her about the woman. She wasn't sure of their relationship, but Catherine had seen the waitress stop by the lab a couple times, always to see Nick. She hoped the redhead would be good for him and took comfort in knowing that the waitress seemed to be helping Nick right now. She was about to try to engage him in conversation and draw him out a little when she heard Grissom clear his throat. Her attention moved to Grissom. "Riley, Greg, you have a DB in North Las Vegas. Catherine, Nick, you're with me. We have a collapsed building on Flamingo. Cath, you're taking the lead on this one."


	3. Chapter 3

_In the midst of movement and chaos, keep the stillness inside you._

_- Deepak Chopra_

Chapter 3

The scene looked like a war zone when they arrived. The four levels of the club Fluid were one mass pile of debris. Lights from fire engines and police cars were flashing. Doctors on sight created a makeshift triage and were helping EMTs tend to the injured. Young men and women were being loaded onto stretchers and into ambulances. More ambulances arrived, while others took off to the hospitals, lights blazing. Rescue workers dug through the rubble, working to free people trapped beneath. Police were interviewing witnesses. Everybody working the scene moved carefully through the wreckage and over and around those who were killed by the collapse. Circling around the area like vultures, the media were reporting on their next big story.

Catherine was awestruck as she took in the scene in front of her. The building was in ruins. She almost felt as if she came for the aftermath of one of the many Vegas implosions she'd witnessed over the years, and not at the scene of a devastating building collapse. She had to shake her head and remind herself of what this was. The limbs sticking out from under the debris, reaching and grabbing for a way out, served to remind her. She stared straight ahead and spoke under her breath, "What the hell happened here?"

Taking a deep breath, she tried to figure out just where she would begin. She wanted to begin by going through the debris, but couldn't until rescue workers cleared the scene and freed the injured. Until then, they couldn't move. She turned to her coworkers. Grissom's eyebrows were furrowed. It looked as if he was internally trying to work something out by looking at the scene in front of him. Nick just stood, mesmerized. She cleared her throat. "Come on; let's begin interviews while the workers clear the scene. I'll touch base with Vartann." Nick nodded mutely and walked away. Grissom remained where he was. Catherine studied him momentarily before making her way over to Vartann.

"Any idea what happened?"

"Hey Catherine. Witnesses say they heard a loud sound like a crack or an explosion, then the building went down."

"So it could have been a bomb?"

"Some of the patrons thought it was. The other people I spoke to were just confused and couldn't say what happened. They say the floor just fell out from under them."

"What level were they on?"

"Fourth. I've only been able to interview the people who were on the top level. Do you know this club?"

"Yeah." She looked at the remains of the building. She'd been to the club with Nick and with Sara a few times over the years. She'd been to the club with Warrick. "Yeah, I've been here a few times."

"Me too. Glad tonight wasn't one of those nights."

Catherine nodded, thinking along the same lines. She refocused. "Is the district engineer here yet?"

"Apparently he's on vacation. They're trying to track him down."

"What about the owner of the club?"

"Can't find him either. He could be in there." Vartann pointed to the pile of debris. She nodded.

"Do we know the numbers on the dead and injured yet?"

"They've pulled sixteen bodies so far. There are a lot more under those. They've only managed to pull second and third level casualties. They haven't made it to the bottom level yet. They're working their way down. As far as injured, that's anyone's guess. They've hauled away about twenty critical already, but there are lots more and lots of people with minor injuries. You won't get those numbers for awhile."

"Do you know what time the building collapsed?"

"Yeah." She watched Vartann check his notes. "About 11:40."

"So less than an hour ago?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get anything else from the witnesses?"

"Witnesses outside say they heard the same loud sound, then they saw a giant dust cloud go up. When the dust cleared, they saw the building like it is now."

"Anybody see how the building went down?"

"No one can say for sure. A couple people thought it crumbled inward just under half way up."

Catherine pondered Vartann's words for a moment. "Well, the club has four levels; the bottom being partially below ground level, so just under half way would be what? The third level floor?"

"Sounds right."

"Great, thanks." Vartann nodded and turned away. Catherine scanned the area. Her eyes found Nick interviewing witnesses. Grissom was in the same spot she'd left him, still staring at the building. She headed over to him. "Hey. I think I know what collapsed first."

"The third level floor."

She gaped at him. "I'm not even going to ask how you know that."

"What did Vartann have to say?"

"Witnesses say it sounded like an explosion. They heard a loud crack right before the building collapsed. Do you think it was a bomb?"

"Not necessarily. The loud crack could be the sound of the building collapsing or one of the beams giving way."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Grissom nodded. Catherine looked straight ahead at the building, or what was left of it. They would have to wait to find anything out. Hopefully in that time, she'd be able to talk to the district engineer and get the building plans from the club owner, if he was alive. Until then, she had to wait.

* * *

They had to wait, and wait, and wait. It was taking hours to clear the scene. In that time, all Nick could do was interview witnesses, survivors, those people who were freed from the debris and escaped the carnage. The people he interviewed had escaped with only a few physical scars. He wondered how many emotional ones accompanied the physical. Every person he spoke to was in a state of shock. Every person was confused. Nobody could give him an answer as to what happened. The same words echoed over and over: a loud sound, like an explosion, a cloud of dust, the feeling of falling, the feeling of being buried, unable to escape, even if only momentarily. Buried, unable to escape, he knew the feeling. He wondered what it would have felt like to be pinned by the heavy weight, unable to move. Sara would know. He was glad she wasn't there. She'd be in the pile, trying to free people, not caring that the building was anything but secure.

Body after body was removed from the wreckage. He could only watch helplessly, knowing that he wasn't a rescue worker and trying to aid in the rescue could hurt the people he was trying to help, or maybe put even more people in danger. He thought about how many lives would be changed by this. How many people lost a brother or a sister, a son or daughter, a parent…a friend? And why? How did this happen? What caused the building to collapse? Did someone place a bomb inside? The questions kept shuffling through his head, repeating over and over.

He'd found he stopped interviewing. He couldn't tear his eyes from the scene. The debris was being moved and piled up to the side of the building. As more and more debris was removed, he could begin to see the bottom of the structure, the parts of the walls that had remained intact. It was the only evidence that a building had once stood there. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around.

"Sorry Nicky."

"It's okay Cath, you just startled me."

"I brought you a coffee. Do you need something to eat?" He took the cup from her hand and shook his head. "Nick, they're almost finished clearing the scene. Once we get in there, we'll be there for hours. You should take a break, clear your head a little, eat something while you can."

"I'll be alright, Catherine."

"Will you?"

He looked down and found her moving to meet his eyes. She held them. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll get something to eat in a bit."

"Okay."

"Thanks Cath." He raised his cup to her and watched her nod. Her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze. He turned back towards the building and continued to stare at the scene.

They stopped pulling bodies. "That's thirty four," he heard David tell Catherine. Thirty four deaths. Thirty four lives ended. Thirty four young lives gone. Thirty four bodies to identify. Thirty four families to notify. The thirty four bodies pulled were young, most in their twenties. Some were his age, Warrick's age, too young to die.

After the bodies were gone, he was left to stare at the other people still on scene. Many of them had cuts and bruises. They weren't injured enough to get carted off to the hospital in the endless parade of ambulances. Instead, they had stayed on scene, eyes fixed on the debris. They couldn't leave, just as he couldn't. Survivors, they were all survivors. He was a survivor, and god did it hurt.

* * *

He had to meander through the crowds of people and dozens of reporters to get to the scene. He ducked under the police tape scanned the crowd, searching, moving around the debris until he found the man he was looking for. Grissom was staring at the scene while talking with Catherine. Brass approached the pair. "Gil, do you have a minute?"

"Yes, we're still waiting on the rescue workers."

Brass nodded and for the first time, let his eyes wander around the scene. It was chaotic and messy and utterly devastating. He glanced at Vartann and noted the stress lines on the detective's face. He was glad he wasn't working this one. His eyes moved around, taking in more before coming back to Grissom's face. Grissom's questioning look broke through his thoughts. He shook his head, attempting to focus on why he was at the scene in the first place. "It's about your serial. I checked on the local entertainers. None of the hotels employed the same entertainers at the times of the murders."

"So we're back to where we started?"

"Not exactly. I did find a connection between the hotels."

"And that would be?"

"All of the hotel casinos were hosting a poker tournament during the murders. Three of the tournaments were satellites for the World Series of Poker. The other was a satellite for the WPT."

"So we could be looking at someone trying to make it into professional poker? Do we know how many people were in all four tournaments?"

"Twelve, not a bad starting place."

"Not if the killer was in the tournaments. We could still be looking for a man stalking women at random hotels."

Brass shook his head. "Come on, counting chips, counting victims, at all four hotels during the time the women were killed. The guy loses out and spends the rest of his night stalking his next victim, figures he has no more chips to count, may as well count victims."

"Well, they are twelve people who were at all of the scenes. See if you can't narrow it down any further. Try finding out what day each player was knocked out; see if it corresponds to the night of the murder. Also check and see if you can find out which casino might be holding a satellite in the near future, and see if any of those twelve are entered."

"Yeah," he looked at the destruction around him and turned back to Grissom. "Have fun with your scene. Looks like Catherine and Nick have moved into the rubble." He waited for Grissom's nod before mapping his way out of the chaos. He passed by Vartann and gave him a small smile before ducking under the tape.

* * *

The scene had been hauntingly familiar: a slender arm, reaching out, grasping at the ground and at air. There was a difference though; this time he wasn't looking at a miniature. There was no overturned car, it wasn't raining, the hand wasn't grasping mud, it wasn't out in the middle of the dessert and the person clawing to get out wasn't Sara. Even so, the painful memories of that night were brought back in full force and he felt helpless as he watched firefighters and rescue workers move to free the woman from the rubble. Did this young woman have a boyfriend? A fiancé? A husband? Would she make it? If she did, would this night haunt her for the rest of her life? Would it haunt all those people who loved her?

The waves of emotion were catching up with him. He rummaged through the debris, mind still on the earlier scene of the woman trying to claw her way out, and feeling as he had almost two years ago, in the months leading up to his sabbatical. The cases were getting to him. He wasn't detached like he used to be. As Grissom continued to sift through the damage, he wondered how much longer he could do his job.

He sighed, focusing on his work. The families of the dead would want answers and he had to provide some of them. He'd never be able to answer the 'why,' but he could answer the 'how.' Thirty four families needed that answer.

"Grissom."

He looked up at the sound of his name and groaned. He moved away from the debris and approached the under sheriff. "Yes?"

"Tell me this wasn't a bomb."

"So far there is no evidence that it was."

"So we aren't looking at terrorists?"

"We don't know what we're looking at yet, but we haven't found any evidence of a bomb or terrorist attack."

"Witnesses on the news say that there is. They said they heard an explosion right before the building went down."

"A loud crack. It could be from the support beams collapsing. We won't know until we investigate."

"I need some answers now. Thirty seven people are dead."

"The coroners count was thirty four."

"Two died on route to the hospital, one died shortly after arriving."

Grissom shook his head and ran his hand over his head. "Thirty seven?"

"Yes. The public needs answers."

"As soon as I have them, you'll have them."

"What's taking so long? You've been here all night and you still don't know how the building collapsed?"

"We've been waiting for rescue workers to find all the people trapped under the building all night. We didn't want any more unnecessary deaths."

"Just give me the details when you know them."

"You really should speak to Catherine. She's the lead on this."

"Why is Willows the lead? You're the senior CSI; why aren't you the lead?"

"I'm on vacation in two days. Catherine is more than capable of handling this. She's speaking to the owner of the club right now. You might be able to get more answers from her."

He could tell that the under sheriff was not satisfied but by that point, he could have cared less. He breathed a sigh of relief when the under sheriff simply shot him a look and left without saying anything. He took a moment to calm himself before returning his focus to the fragments of building around him. The focus didn't last long. He let out another groan as he rummaged through his pockets for his chirping cell. He looked at the caller id and raised an eyebrow, wondering how the caller could be phoning so soon. "Brass, what have you got?"

Brass's voice came over the phone. Grissom dropped the piece of steel he'd been holding in his hand. Brass's words repeated in his head. "_We've got another one."_


	4. Chapter 4

_It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death._

_- Mark Twain_

Chapter 4

He arrived at the crime scene and found five women between the ages of twenty and forty huddled outside the door. The two youngest were hugging each other; the two who looked to be the oldest were gripping each other's sleeve. The remaining woman was sitting with her back against the wall, staring straight ahead. He approached the officer on sight. "What have we got?"

"Dead body in the hotel room. Looks like the serial. Those two," the officer indicated the two youngest, "found the body."

Brass nodded and peeked into the hotel room. A young woman lay sprawled on the bed. Seven long cuts ran the length of her naked back. He shook his head and pulled out his phone, hesitating to make the call he knew he had to make. Grissom was under a lot of pressure recently and was at another high profile crime scene. Brass wanted to be able to call someone else, anyone else, but he knew he couldn't. Grissom would want this call. Grissom was the lead on the serials, while Catherine was the lead on the crime scene she and Grissom were at. He had to call Grissom and tell the man the serial was back. He paused for another moment before dialing the night shift supervisor. He ran his hands through his hair, waiting for what seemed an eternity for Grissom to pick up. He didn't offer a greeting or work his way into the conversation. No, he approached the call like a man pulling off a band aid, pull it quick and get it over with. "We've got another one."

After giving Grissom the details, he hung up and exited the hotel room, moving to speak to the women. He took in their details. The two youngest had stopped hugging each other. Harsh white tear lines ran down their red faces. He approached them. "Hello, I'm detective Jim Brass. I need to ask you a few questions." The girls nodded mutely. "First of all, I need your names."

The older of the two young women spoke up. "I'm Justine Travis, and this is Emily Matthews."

"Okay, Justine, Emily, where are you from?"

"Canada. Penticton, British Columbia."

"You girls down in Vegas just to party?"

"Sort of. We had a hockey tournament here last weekend and a few of us stayed on to do some partying. It was Em's 21st birthday a couple weeks ago, so we thought it'd be great to celebrate here." The girl covered her mouth as tears began to flood her eyes. "Karin, Emily and I were going to head up to Tahoe on Thursday and do some camping there. Karin wanted to see Tahoe more than she wanted to see Vegas."

"You two found the body?"

Emily Matthews nodded, while Justine Travis swallowed. "Yeah. We came up to our hotel room and found her, Karin, lying on the bed. At first we thought she was asleep, but then we saw..." The young woman choked back a sob. "Then we saw the blood."

Brass nodded. "The young woman on the bed, her name is Karin?"

"Yeah, Karin Des Lauriers."

"Okay. Where were you before you found her?"

"We were in the casino. Karin was with us until about one thirty, two o'clock. Maybe it was later; I'm not sure. She decided to go up to the room and hit the sheets. She said she was tired, wanted to crawl into bed and read for a bit before going to sleep. We stayed down to party some more. When we came up, we found her."

"What did you do then?"

Justine Travis pursed her lips and wiped away at the stray tears. "Emily screamed. I might have too; I don't remember. I remember Emily's scream. She ran out of the room. I ran to the next room, Paige, Jenn, and Amber's room. Jenn's a paramedic. I thought maybe she could help. I hoped she could help."

Brass looked over at the three other women. He noticed blood on one of the women's cloths. He turned back towards Justine and thanked her.

He was about to move onto the other women when he heard Emily Matthews speak. "Detective Brass?"

"Yeah?"

"Karin, she had, we saw, there are seven cuts down her back?"

"Yeah." He watched the young woman's face grow pale. "There are. Why?"

"Her, uh, jersey number, she wore number 7."

His face paled at the upsetting coincidence. He opened his mouth to say something to the young woman, but closed it again. Not knowing what to say, he stared at the girl momentarily. "She wore number 7?" The young girl nodded. He returned the nod and turned away. His eyes found the woman with blood stained cloths. He approached her. "Are you Jenn?"

"Yeah, Jenn Thompson." The woman was shaky, but definitely the most composed of the group. Brass wondered if it was because she was used to seeing this kind of thing, her age, or another reason.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"We, Paige, Amber and I, left the casino early, about twelve thirty or so. We woke up to banging on our door. Uh, the clock said 4:49. Paige was awake. She said she heard a scream. We could hear Justine and Emily outside the door, begging to be let in. We opened the door and they ran in, crying. They said something happened to Karin. They said she was lying on the bed, not moving, and that there was blood in the hotel room. We grabbed our hockey sticks and crept into their room. I ran over to Karin, but I knew there was no hope when I saw her throat slit. I checked her pulse anyways, while Paige called 911. Karin was dead. Her face was bruised and she had all these cuts down her back. We just waited for you to show up."

"You didn't hear anything during the night?"

"No, but I'm a pretty deep sleeper."

"I did." Brass looked over at the woman sitting with her back against the hall wall. Her ashen face stared straight ahead. He moved slowly, crouching down in front of her.

"You are?"

"Paige."

"Paige?"

"Paige Fatone."

"Okay, Paige, what did you hear?"

"Some bumping, thudding. I thought it was just the kids entering their room drunk." The woman played with her hands in her lap, staring down at her digits.

"The kids?"

"Emily, Justine and Karin, the kids. That's what we call them, or I call them."

"Okay, you heard some bumping, then what?"

"I went back to sleep. I didn't think anything of it. I should have; I should have checked."

"Do you know what time that was?"

"I don't know." The woman shook her head and looked away, staring away from everybody and down the hall.

Brass watched Paige Fatone as her face remained turned away and Justine Travis moved and sat down next to her, placing her arm around the older woman. Justine Travis turned her head towards his. "Paige was like an older sister to Karin. We were close, but she and Karin were closer. She, uh, she should be the one to tell Karin's parents."

Brass nodded and turned back to the other women to finish his questioning. As he neared the end of his inquiries, he noticed Grissom get off the elevator and move wearily towards him.

* * *

The job was turning into a death march. Every crime scene he investigated was an added weight to his already exhausted body. He'd just left a scene where thirty seven people had died, to come to a scene where a young woman was savagely murdered. And waiting for him at that scene? Five women, five friends, with about twenty years difference in their ages, suffering the loss of their young friend, murdered by a man craving power and control. There were too many unsettling parallels between this scene and the scene two months before, where five CSIs had come together to grieve the loss of their friend. It was a slap in the face. His only hope was that he could find the justice he'd never found for his own team, the justice he'd never found for Warrick.

He walked by the young woman, keeping his face forward, not wanting to look at their faces until he examined the scene. The physical evidence in the room would tell the story better than their faces. He entered the room and felt Brass's presence behind him. "You're working this one solo?"

"Greg and Riley are finishing up a scene. Greg is coming here afterwards."

He moved about the room, carefully familiarizing himself with the graphic scene. He stopped in front of the body and his eyes lingered. "Name's Karin Des Lauriers, 23, from Canada, Penticton, B.C."

"Penticton, on Lake Okanagan. Did you know the lake has its own mythical sea monster?"

"I didn't know that. Mythical sea monster, like the Loch Ness?"

"Yeah, the Ogopogo."

"You don't say. The Ogopogo, huh?" Brass paused. "Anyways, the victim was here for a hockey tournament on the weekend. She and some of her teammates decided to stay for a few extra days."

He looked up at Brass and shook his head sadly. His eyes moved back over the body and to the young woman's throat. His head snapped up.

"What is it?"

"The throat, it's slit twice, one slit only partially transects her throat. The other slit runs right across. The other victims only had one slit across."

"A copycat?"

"Well, she's bruised. It looks as though she took a hit across her face. None of the other victims had any bruising. The rest of the details are so similar though. The placement of the body, the cuts on her back, the killer would have had to know intimate details of the other murders to recreate the scene this flawlessly. I know some of the details leaked, but were they enough to reconstruct the scene this perfectly?"

"You tell me. Why would the killer hit this woman?"

"Maybe he didn't completely surprise her."

"You think she fought back?"

"If she did, the killer may have left us some evidence. We'll have to wait for the coroner before we can examine the body."

"How long until David arrives?"

"This morning? With the collapsed building on Flamingo, it could take hours." Grissom looked around at the bags in the room. "There are five women out there. They weren't all staying in this room?"

"No, besides the victim, the two younger women, Justine Travis and Emily Matthews were in this room."

"The other three?"

"Her other teammates. Paige Fatone, Jennifer Thompson and Amber Dubewitz. They're staying in the next room over."

"One of them has blood on her."

"Jenn Thompson. She's a paramedic back in Canada. She said she checked the body, got the blood on her then."

"Did she move the body?"

"No, she said she only checked for a pulse, knew there wasn't much hope after seeing the throat slit."

"Don't let them go anywhere. I'll get Greg to process them when he gets here."

"The officer is outside with them. They aren't in any hurry to leave. They're still in shock."

Grissom continued to survey the room. He moved to the bedside table and found two novels. He snapped a photo and picked up one of the novels and studied it. "Two novels on one side of the bed? _The Power of One _and _Sons and Lovers? _Interesting reading material."

"Yeah, apparently she reads her teammates to sleep, relaxes them after a disappointing hockey game, so they say. One's her personal reading, the other, _The Power of One,_ is the bedtime story. Apparently, even Paige Fatone, staying in the next room would come over for story time."

"People find comfort in others reading to them. It's soothing."

"Well, if that's the case, they're going to need a bedtime story tonight. It's soothing?"

"It is. I used to read to Sara all the time. It became a morning routine. Before we would drift off to sleep, I'd read her a chapter from a book. When I had a headache or a rough day, she'd read to me."

"I could think of better things to do in bed before sleep."

Grissom looked up and raised an eyebrow. Brass was smirking. Grissom shook his head and focused back on the novel, fingering the pages. "I read this to her." He smiled sadly and placed the book back on the table. With this case, he knew he wouldn't be able to leave to see her on Thursday. He might be able to get away Friday, or Saturday. He made a mental note to call her when he was finished up and break the news that his trip would be delayed. Just as the thought entered his mind, his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his vest, he looked at the id and placed it back in his pocket.

"Not taking any calls?"

"It's the under sheriff."

Brass nodded in understanding. Grissom moved around the room, snapping more photos. Minutes later, his cell rang again. He pulled it from his vest and checked the id. He groaned and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"The under sheriff again?"

"Ecklie." He knew he wasn't going to get any peace until he answered the calls, but he didn't feel up to answering their questions at the moment. Could they not wait for him to finish an investigation and give the answers then? He didn't care if there was an election going on, the increased pressure would not solve the cases any faster or help the under sheriff's image to the public. His priority was the evidence, not Ecklie, and certainly not the under sheriff.

* * *

After finishing up his scene and just into a double, he arrived at the hotel. Once Greg arrived, he was immediately set to work processing the women. Their voices distant, they hadn't stopped talking about their friend. Brass had told him it had been that way earlier too. The women were in shock and searching for a memory to hold onto. They lost a friend, a teammate. Penticton, British Columbia, Canada, lost a bright young woman. She had a degree in English from the University of Alberta, a place she chose to go because of their hockey program and its proximity to some of her close relatives. She was supposed to head to McGill for a masters in English Lit. She'd chosen that University because of its reputation. She'd taken a year off after receiving her undergrad degree and stayed at home, playing on her local woman's team. The Vegas tournament was her last one with the team before heading to Montreal. It was such a waste and as the women continued their anecdotes, Greg had to fight to keep his own emotions in check.

He finished processing the women and looked in to see Grissom in the room with David. Grissom was bent over the body. "Did you get a TOD, David?"

"According to the liver temp, she's been dead nine hours."

"So TOD would be around 2:00?"

Greg watched David nod. He stepped into the room. "The women are processed. Where do you want me?"

"Come here for a minute Greg."

Greg moved to the side of his boss. He followed Grissom's gaze.

"What is it?"

"I think our victim bit her attacker."

His eyes moved closer. He could see the trace amounts of blood and skin on the victim's teeth. "How do we know it isn't hers?"

"It doesn't look like she bit her tongue or lip. She has one partial slit. I think she bit the killer as he tried to slit her throat. It would explain the interuption."

"Well, that would give us a DNA sample."

"We just need something to compare it to."

"That may not be so hard." Both men looked up to see Brass standing in the doorway. "The casino is hosting a satellite."

Greg looked between the Grissom and Brass. He was confused. "So?"

"We think the killer might be a poker player."

"Oh."

"Brass, can you compare the names you got earlier with the players in this tournament? Greg, can you finish up in here and get all the evidence back to the lab? I'll follow David and go with the body."

Greg nodded and looked around the room. There wasn't much left to process. Grissom had had plenty of time to process while waiting for David to arrive. He watched as they placed the body in a bag and onto a gurney before turning back to his work, thankful it wouldn't take too long to finish up. After investigating what turned out to be the suicide of a young teenager with a lifetime ahead of him, he wasn't quite ready to investigate the death of a young woman with the world ahead of her.


	5. Chapter 5

_The universe seems bankrupt as soon as we begin to discuss the characters of individuals._

_- Henry David Thoreau_

Chapter 5

He toiled through the remnants of the building, moving deftly through each piece of steel, wood and tile he found, searching for an answer as to how the building went down. The work was monotonous and he found his mind wandering. Each time he picked up a new fragment, he could hear the whispering pleas of the victims and quickened his pace once again, only to have it slow each time a new voice entered his head. Let his eye lids fall closed, breathing softly, serenely, each breath a whisper, letting the thoughts fall from his mind. He opened his eyes, hoping to resume the work but found himself looking at the midday sky, lost in the endless azure above him. The voices returned, mocking tones this time, and he looked over to see the Under Sheriff and Ecklie watching him again. He returned to his work, hoping to avoid their scrutiny, wishing for the impossible.

All morning the Under Sheriff had been following him around, unable to find Catherine, peppering him with questions, demanding answers, accusing him of withholding information or not working hard enough to find the answers. Nick did not, could not, like the man whose biggest worry was how the aftermath of the investigation would affect the Under Sheriff's chances in the upcoming election. Were the political repercussions really more important than the lives lost?

He looked around the scene, noting the frenzy of journalists surrounding the police tape, exploiting the tragedy for higher ratings. Some journalist probably hoped to win an Emmy or a Pulitzer for his or her coverage. They'd tried to interview him each time he moved to place evidence in his vehicle. So far he'd managed to duck them. All he wanted to do was to work in peace, do his job, the way Grissom trained him to do it. He wanted to be the man Grissom wanted him to be, to be the man Warrick was. Each time he moved to a new scene, he felt he had to fill Warrick's role too.

How was he to become the man he was supposed to become when people were on him all the time, trying to shape him into something else? How was he to become the man he was meant to be when the man that he had been was dead? He died, the night he held his friend's body in his arms. What was he now? He hoped he could find his way back, find himself again, but he suspected that man was long gone. He was as damaged and fractured as the building around him.

The world was turning in on him. Every happiness had flitted away. He found in hard to breathe, hard to process evidence feeling this way. He was walking in endless circles, repeating motions, robotic in his work. One more glance in the Under Sheriff's direction, and he found new resolve. He would not let the Under Sheriff berate him for his episodes of lost concentration. He would not listen to the Under Sheriff discuss the importance of the investigation on the county's upcoming election.

He had an enormous capacity for tolerating such people in the past, finding ways to appease them. He couldn't do that any more. He didn't care enough to, or perhaps his anger had grown so that he couldn't tolerate them. He wanted to hear no more about the importance of the election and its effect on the lab. Of course it was important. Who could deny that? The right person had to be chosen if the lab wanted to keep its standing and its solve rate. The right person would know not to interfere with the running of a reputable lab. The under sheriff did nothing but interfere, prioritizing victims according to profile, getting angry when the limitations of their work delayed the progress of a case, disrupting the overall harmony of the lab. The next time the Under Sheriff wanted to sell him on the importance of his being elected sheriff, Nick would not stand for it. He was ready to tell the Under Sheriff, the DA, Ecklie, not the media because God knows how many times that had back fired, but anyone else who pressured him into expediency, just where they should go. He would even show him how to get there…and the horse he rode in on.

* * *

He sat in his office, waiting on results, waiting for Doc Robbins to get to his body. He debated taking a nap on sofa and decided it was probably a good idea to get some sleep. He'd been up for over thirty hours. He closed his eyes and laid down, hoping to drift into slumber, but finding himself unsuccessful. Too many thoughts were running through his head. Images of so many bodies ran through his head, people buried, women with their throats slit. The rest was not peaceful.

He tried to focus on the one image that could always bring him peace. Thoughts of Sara, beautiful, sweet Sara began to seep into his brain. However with the thoughts came the knowledge that their reunion would have to wait until he completed his investigation. Thinking about the impending delay in his vacation made sleep even harder to come by and he sat up, realizing he had yet to inform Sara. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial. When her answering machine came on, he closed his phone. He wanted to speak to her and not to her machine. Letting out a long sigh, he lay back on the couch and willed himself to sleep.

The slumber did not last long. He was jolted from his rest by an aggravated looking Ecklie. He sat up quickly and frowned. "Ecklie, this better be important."

"Why did you give Willows the lead on the collapsed night club?"

"I didn't want to take the lead on any new cases. Catherine seemed like the perfect CSI to handle it."

"I'm not saying Catherine isn't capable. She's a good CSI, but the Under Sheriff wanted you on it. People are wondering why the senior CSI isn't leading the investigation. Under Sheriff McKean wants you back on it right now."

"I don't answer to the Under Sheriff."

"No, you answer to me. I answer to the Under Sheriff and unlike you, I care about my career and want to do what is good for it. This case is high profile. You're on it."

"Catherine will handle it. If she has any questions, she'll talk to me. I trust her."

"Grissom, I don't know why you thought you should hand off the lead. I'm even more perplexed as to why you'd leave the scene to head to another. You should have sent someone else."

Grissom looked up at Ecklie from his position on the sofa. He narrowed his eyebrows. "The other scene fit the description of the serials."

"This morning? If that is true, how was the body found so soon? Housekeeping found the bodies each time."

"Not this time. The room had some other guests. They were late arrivals to their room. When they entered, they found the body."

"So is it the serial?"

"I don't know. There are some differences. Conrad, what details did the media release?"

"The only details leaked were that we believe the slices on the victims' backs to be a tally. No precise details were leaked. Don't tell me the media got more particulars this morning."

"No, I think every journalist in Nevada was at Catherine's scene. I'm just troubled by the scene in the hotel. There were differences, but the cuts and the placement of the body were so precise."

"What were the differences?"

"The victim had two slits across her throat. There was a partial slit above the other slit. The victim also had some bruising."

"Are we looking at a copy cat, or do you think someone killed her and tried to make it look like the Pharaoh Killer?"

"No, I don't. I think something went wrong and our victim fought back."

"A day and half after the media releases details on the case. You're sure?"

"No, I'm not."

"Did the victim have defensive wounds?"

"No, but she did have blood and skin cells on her teeth. I think she bit her attacker."

"The lack of defensive wounds usually indicates that the victim knew their killer."

"I know that it usually indicates that, but we've always believed our killer attacked from behind."

"But you don't know that."

"No."

Ecklie's stare pierced him. He stared back, daring Ecklie to say something more. Their staring contest was broken up by his pager. He glanced down. "It's Doc Robbins. I'm wanted in the morgue. See you later Conrad." He stood up and brushed by Ecklie on his way out of his office.

"Yeah, I'll let the Under Sheriff know you're working on the serial."

He continued walking down the hall, shaking his head at both Ecklie and the Under Sheriff, wondering which case held more importance in their eyes.

He reached the morgue and began to methodically examine the body laid out on the table, noting more subtle differences between this woman and the women previous. "Doc, how tall would you say she was?"

"She's 5'3 ½. I estimate she weighed roughly 115 pounds when she was alive."

"She's shorter than all of the other victims."

"The killer was more brutal with her. Note the bruising along her left side and across her face. She was hit across the face and punched in the ribs."

"Well, she was a hockey player. She played in a tournament this past weekend."

"It could explain the bruising along the side, but it would be hard to get hit in the face under the helmet. Besides, the bruising is fresh."

"This one is different."

"Are you thinking it may be a copy cat?"

"One night after Vegas finds out the details of the murders a woman is killed in the same way; it could be. Still, I don't know. The details are so precise. COD?"

"COD was exsanguination."

He turned the body and ran his gloved hand along the woman's back. "Tell me about the cuts."

"They are smooth like the others, run approximately the same length and have roughly the same depth. The only difference is the added partial transection of the throat. The killer had to cut twice."

"What about sexual assault?"

"Object rape, just like the others, only this one was more brutal as well. Her vagina was all cut up." Doc Robbins picked up his tweezers and grasped a small, sharp object. "I pulled this out of it."

Doc Robbins handed him the tweezers. He examined the object carefully. "It looks like a piece of glass. I'll send it to trace."

"It looks like your killer broke the object he was using to rape her and just continued on."

Grissom looked up, horrified at Doc Robbins's words. He shook his head sadly. "Thanks Al."

Exiting the morgue, he wandered morosely through the halls, head down. He had to find this woman's killer and the serial if they were two different people. He wished he knew what he was dealing with.

His head glanced up just as he entered trace. He handed off the piece of glass to Hodges, raising his hand to stop the man from saying anything. He walked out quickly, spotting Catherine in the layout room and using her as an excuse for his hasty departure. Catherine was leaning over the table, a frown etched onto her face. He poked his head in, hoping for a temporary distraction. "How's the case coming?"

"It's coming. The Under Sheriff and Ecklie are both pissed that you're not the lead."

Grissom nodded. "I know. What about you? Are you mad I threw you into this pressure cooker?"

"Please, are you kidding me? I own this case."

"What do you know?"

"It wasn't a bomb; it was a damaged beam. I called in a structural engineer as a consult. A beam beneath the third floor gave out and with it went the floor. The rest of the building followed."

"So the question is, did the owner of the club know the beam was damaged?"

"Well, he claims he didn't. Said he had no idea the building was unsafe. I'm just waiting on the district engineer's last inspection report."

Grissom nodded. He stood for a moment. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"What do you need?"

"Talk something through with me."

"Okay?" Catherine stood straight up and faced him. "Well?"

"We think the serial slices open women's throats before he can react, right?"

"No one had heard any screams, so yeah, that's what we think."

"The latest victim had one partial slit above another slit. She also had skin cells under her nails and on her teeth. There was a trace amount of blood on her teeth as well."

"She fought back."

"No defensive wounds, but if she was attacked from behind, that wouldn't mean anything." He sighed. "How was it possible for her to bite her attacker though?"

"Well, if he grabbed her from behind, she could have bit down then. She'd have to have bitten hard to break skin."

"The killer would certainly have an impression on his arm."

"You could match it to the victim's mouth."

"Yeah. How was she able to bite him when the others weren't?"

"Maybe the others lacked opportunity."

"How does the killer grab his victims? Around the shoulders? Karin Des Lauriers was shorter than the other victims. If he grabs them around the shoulders, maybe he meant to grab Karin Des Lauriers there, but her shoulders were too low."

"Why was he targeting a shorter victim. All the other women were slightly above average height."

"Well, we know the killer strikes by opportunity. Maybe it was a coincidence that all the other women were taller, or maybe our victim looked taller."

"It's possible."

He regarded Catherine and began to process his thoughts. "Catherine, if the killer can't grab the girl by the shoulders and wants to slice her throat, where does he grab?"

"The forehead? Pull the head back, slice the throat."

"He strikes fast. Maybe he missed the forehead and came across her mouth. The knife begins to slice the throat and she bites down. The slicing gets interrupted. Her hands come up to his arm or his hand and she scratches? He hits her then slices her throat again?"

Catherine's eyes widen. "Yeah. Wait…hits her?"

"She had bruising along her side and across her face."

"She pissed him off when she bit him."

"He was more brutal with her. He broke the object he was using to rape her and kept on going." Catherine winced. He sighed. "Thanks Cath."

"Yeah."

He made his way to his office, replaying the dialogue in his head, wondering why the killer didn't grab all of the victims by the forehead. Running around the thought, he reasoned that maybe the killer was shorter and it was easier for him to grab the victims by shoulders. He was finally getting somewhere.

He made it to his office and was met by the Under Sheriff. He raised an eyebrow?"

"Grissom, I heard the serial is back."

"Possibly."

"You're not sure?"

"Not entirely. We're investigating all avenues."

"How could you not know? The girl was found in her hotel, with slits on her back?"

"Yes."

"Grissom, if it looks like a duck…"

"It could be the ugly duckling."

"What?"

"The swan, everyone thought the swan was a duckling as a baby, or rather an ugly duckling. It took time for the swan to reveal its true colors. It looked like a duck, but it wasn't one."

"Grissom, just solve the damn thing. I don't have to tell you about the importance of this investigation. The people of Las Vegas would like this killer behind bars so they can stop fearing for their lives. I would like to put him there and soon, before he targets any more people. Since he's been killing tourists, the news has national interest. Now I hear his last victim was Canadian, so it's going international. People aren't going to want to visit the city, thinking this city is unsafe. It reflects badly on those of us trying to keep it safe."

"The city is unsafe. Have you looked at the crime rate, Under Sheriff? We're working on the serial. We want this solved to."

"Then do it, damn it!" The Under Sheriff turned and stormed down the hall. Grissom took a deep breath, trying to calm his rising anger. He stepped into his office and sat on the couch, head in hands, wanting to get away from it all. What was left for him here? Between serials and other pressing high profile cases, the job was fast approaching a nightmare. They were no closer to finding Warrick's killer. His perfect, pure love was in San Francisco, waiting for him to visit. He was lost in a job he couldn't get away from, working for a man whose priorities were an election and not the people the man had sworn to protect. It would be convenient for him to solve the serial at that time. It wouldn't be convenient for a the serial to strike again, or a terrorist to attack the city on the Under Sheriff's watch, not right before an election. What happened to the leaders of men? The new leaders, or at least those who seem to gain power in Vegas, were a different breed. They were leaders of the morally impoverished, playing a game with the people who were taken in by their words, their charms. Were these leaders benevolent? He couldn't say. They spoke of justice, but reputation and politics still seemed to be the priority.

He thought about Greg's recently released book. Power and control still ruled the day. Vegas was still Vegas, and the code of law set down in Vegas hadn't changed. Vegas still had its own Code of Hammurabi. The kings who originally set down the laws in Vegas, followed the retaliatory and retributive aspects of the code. The new kings may have changed some of the aspects, but the code was still there, carved in the psyche of every Vegas resident. The set of practices was the same. Dirty money flowed, buying favors for the men that violated society's own code, paying their fees to the kings, the only change in the past sixty years being that the kings that rule ceased to be the mobsters or mafia that built the city, but new leaders, chosen by the subjects, to run the city, guard the city, protect the city. People knew the old kings. The new kings were unknowns.

Perhaps he was being cynical. Vegas had the tendency to bring out the cynicism in men and women trying to lead an ethical and moral existence within Vegas's walls. Perhaps he had lived there too long, stayed there too long. He smiled sadly, knowing that when he spent countless hours pondering the ever mutating, yet stagnant power structure of Vegas, then perhaps it was time he moved on. He was searching for an unknown, a powerful entity he may never be able to find. Yet, he wasn't sure he could leave without finding this entity. The death of its counterpart deserved justice. The battle before Grissom was frighteningly immense. What would he end up sacrificing in his pursuit? He'd already lost so much of his self. Would he gain back part what he lost when he is finally able to expunge himself of his own sins, purge himself of the guilt created by the failure of his own leadership? What fate would he have to surrender to? Could the exorcism of that one unknown be enough to bring light back to the city that had grown as dark as Gothem, or would another unknown, as powerful and as dark merely step in and take its place? The fears created a powerful headache. He lay down and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his thoughts. He still had to call Sara.

* * *

She couldn't believe the owner of the club. Thirty seven people were killed, over one hundred injured, all because of one man's greed. First, he ignores the district engineer's recommendation to close the building and fix the slanted beam in his club, then, he allows his employees to surpass the building's capacity. She was seething. She turned to the man in front of her. "Why didn't you close the building?"

"It didn't pose an immediate hazard. I made my recommendation." She gritted her teeth at the city's new district engineer, a smug little man who didn't even have the courteously to look her in the eyes, instead, letting his gaze fall south.

"Didn't pose an immediate threat? The building collapsed just over a month after your last inspection. I'd say it was hazardous."

"I told the club's owner to reinforce the beam. He ignored my recommendation."

"You had the power to close the building until those recommendations were met." The man gave her a slimy smile. She wanted to smack it off his face. "You're culpable in this too. I'll make sure the DA knows you merely suggested the reinforcing the beam." She stood up and turned to Vartann. "Can you deal with him?" She waved her hand, indicating the district engineer. "I have to get out of here."

She moved through PD and sped back to the lab, walking speedily through the halls. She arrived at the locker room and threw open the door to her locker, grabbing what she needed to go home.

"Catherine?"

She spun around. "Gil, I'm on my way out. I've got to go home."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothings wrong."

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

"Did you close your case?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

She slammed her locker door shut. "What, did Ecklie send you? The Under Sheriff?"

"No."

She sat down on the bench and watched Grissom hesitantly take the seat next to her. "Sorry. It's just frustrating. It could have all been prevented. The building was inspected six weeks ago."

"What happened?"

"The district engineer noticed one of the cross beams below the third level floor was slanted. He recommended the owner close the club and reinforce the beam."

"And he never."

"No, he ignored the recommendation because that new dj, jazzy whatever, the one that Greg and Riley talk about, was spinning all this month. Instead of closing the building, the owner fills the club past its capacity figuring he could milk the act for as much money as possible."

"An overcrowded building with a compromised structure, a deadly combination."

She stood up and spun to face him. "Thirty seven people were killed because he wanted to make more money. He didn't even think about his patrons."

"He won't profit off his greed. He'll pay for it. I'm sure after all the criminal charges are filed, the families of the dead will file civil charges. He'll lose way more than he sought to gain."

"Not more than those families lost; not more than the people who died lost." She slumped against the lockers and noticed his sad gaze upon her. She hated when he looked like that, so defeated and lost. She hated that he leveled that look upon her. It was so unlike him and it was unnerving. She had to say something to him.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the Under Sheriff. Catherine cursed at him under her breath, noting that the man seemed to be everywhere when he wasn't wanted anywhere. "Ms. Willows, I've heard you closed your case."

"I have. The DA has my report."

"And it wasn't a terrorist attack."

"No."

"Good. Good work. I appreciate your expediency in closing the case." Catherine rolled her eyes while the Under Sheriff continued, "I'll get your findings release to the media. There'll be a press conference this afternoon."

The mention of the press angered her further. The media had been exploiting the tragedy all day, circling the survivors, bothering the rescue workers and exploiting the emotions of everyone around the scene. It was infuriating.

"The city will rest easy knowing it was just an unfortunate accident."

"Yes, I'm sure the families of the dead are going to rest very comfortably tonight, knowing their loved ones weren't killed by terrorists."

Catherine was shocked by Grissom's sarcastic quip. She looked between the Under Sheriff and Grissom and watched the tension rising.

"Grissom, I'm warning you. Your time would be better spent focusing on your own case." The Under Sheriff leveled Grissom with a scowl before leaving the room.

"Gil, you better be careful. He will suspend you."

"He's just blowing smoke."

She scoffed. "He's an ass but he could hurt your career."

"It was the work that was important, not the career." She watched him shake his head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

She stared at him. "Gil?"

"Feel any better Catherine?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm still pissed as hell, pissed at the district engineer for not shutting down the building, at the club owner for ignoring the warnings and keeping the club open so he could make money, at Ecklie, at the Under Sheriff, at you, at this whole damn thing." She moved in front of him and looked down, grasping his shoulders. "God, can't you just play the game?"

"No Catherine, I can't."

He stood up and left. She stared after him. If the Under Sheriff got elected and Grissom didn't learn to play nice, the Under Sheriff would boot him out the door and the lab would be a real mess. Grissom had called her case a pressure cooker and it could have been. However, the lab was the real pressure cooker these days. There were way too many elements reacting against each other and it was going to blow. She only hoped they all survived the explosion.


	6. Chapter 6

_For my heart was hot and restless,  
__And my life was full of care,  
__And the burden laid upon me  
__Seemed greater than I could bear._

_- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

Chapter 6

People all around her were scurrying to get to shelter as the sky opened up over her. She never noticed the flurry of activity. Instead, she allowed herself to stand, for one moment, dropping her bags of groceries and spreading her arms out wide as she let the rain cascade down over her. For one moment, she felt free of all the worries that had been intruding on her peace of mind. It was a baptism, the drops of rain cleansing her spirit. Her regular worries and fears abandoned, she allowed only one worry to remain as thoughts of Gil Grissom filtered through her brain, refusing to be washed away. She'd heard so much sadness in his tone during every phone call recently. While she had been healing, he had been breaking, and even though she knew it, she felt powerless to help him, reaching out to him only to meet with his resigned sighs. He wouldn't let her go back either, telling her the timing wasn't right, telling her that he was afraid if she came back to Vegas, his own demons would begin to haunt her, destroying everything she'd worked to acheive. He needed to be the one to get away, the one to go see her, he had told her. She lifted her head to the sky and smiled, half sadly, half wistfully. He would be with her soon and she'd do her best to help him forget, even if the escape lasted only one week. Maybe the rain would last and she could stand, in the same position with him, grasping his hand as the rain swept away that final fear and cleansed them both.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them, a dim rainbow began to form in the sky. She smiled and looked down at her grocery bags. The rain was soaking through the paper. It was time to go in. She looked towards the apartment building, watching as one of her neighbors opened the front door. "Hold the door!" The man turned around in the doorwar and waited as she picked up her bags of groceries and sprinted to the open door. "Thanks." The man nodded and left her in the foyer. She placed the groceries on the floor and shook the moisture from her hair. The door opened again as a woman stepped in and brushed by her. The woman was accompanied by a cold breeze that traveled through Sara's pores, chilling her. She let out a shiver and made her way to her apartment.

Stepping inside the single unit, she closed the door behind her and carefully removed her wet shoes, leaving them by the door. She picked up her sopping wet bags of groceries, thankful she hadn't spent any more time in the rain as the bags were barely holding on and she padded her way through the house. She placed the bags on the kitchen counter and habitually removed the contents onto the counter before placing them in their appropriate homes, leaving the paper bags on the counter to dry.

As she moved about the kitchen, she felt a draft sweep through her wet cloths, causing her to let out another shiver. Overall, the apartment was nice and suited her temporary needs, but she could do without the drafts that flowed through the old building and she was momentarily angry with herself for standing out in the rain when she knew she'd be returning to a drafty apartment. Ridding herself of the thought, she pulled her wet sweatshirt over her head and threw it onto a nearby chair. She turned to the stove and filled her kettle, hoping a hot tea would help warm her. She opened the cupboard to pull out a tea bag when she heard the distinct beep of her cell phone behind her. Spinning around, she spotted the object on her table. Picking it up, she noticed she had six missed calls. She smiled when the display read 'Gil,' but as she searched through the remaining missed calls and noticed that they were all from the same man, she began to worry. She immediately hit the speed dial and got his voicemail. "Hey, it's me. I saw that you called a few times," she spoke, trying to sound light, though her soft tone betrayed her, "and I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me when you get this, please."

She closed her phone and placed it back on the table, bracing her hands on the edge. She became anxious, wondering why he'd called so many times, and in such a short period. The first couple of calls were a couple of hours apart and she realized he must have called her the first time just after she left. The remaining calls all came within a very short period of time. The worries she'd felt earlier in that day penetrated her mind once again. The calls suggested desperation. It wasn't like him to be so frantic. What if something had happened? She let the fear overtake her. The grip she held on the edge of the table tightened, her knuckle whitening more every second she stood there. She was paralysed against the table until the loud sound of the kettle whistling behind her permeated her thoughts, startling her and causing her to jump back suddenly. She shook her head, chastising herself for letting her imagination run away with her.

She turned off the burner and threw a tea bag into her mug, pouring the boiling water over the bag. She let the water absorb the flavor as she decided to check her messages before jumping to anymore outrageous conclusions. Picking up the phone, she flipped it open and accessed her voice mail. There were a few hang-ups before his voice, tired and resigned and painfully sad, came over the phone. _Sara, call me, please._ It did nothing to ease her fears. She kept listening, bracing herself for the other messages. After another hang-up, then, his voice, as painful and as sad as before, came over the phone once again. _Sara, I wanted to speak to you about this, but I just seem to be getting your voicemail. It's about my trip to see you. Things are a little crazy here and I won't be able to get out of here as soon as planned. I'm really sorry. I am still coming, hopefully Friday or Saturday. I want nothing more than to see you. I miss you. Call me, please._

She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing nothing terrible had happened. She should have known that was what the calls were about, although the volume of the calls and the pain in his voice told her that these calls were different from the previous ones canceling his trips to meet her. While she was disappointed she wouldn't be seeing him as soon as she hoped, she was more troubled by whatever it was keeping him from getting away as soon as he needed to. What kind of state would he be in after another stressful night or two in the city of sin? She knew things were crazy in Vegas. While it had been a couple of days since she'd spoken to him and not his voicemail, she'd seen the news, and Vegas had dominated the headlines. They'd named the serial killer Gil was investigating, and that attention could only place a great deal of pressure on all of the people investigating. The other dominant headline had been the collapse of a Vegas nightclub that had killed nearly forty people. She knew both Ecklie and the Under Sheriff would be demanding answers, and aiming all of their questions at Gil. It wasn't any wonder he had sounded the way he had.

Taking a spoon, she dipped it into some honey and watched as the honey dripped into the mug. She stirred the honey into her tea and picked up the phone. "Hey, I just checked my messages. I understand. Call me if you need to talk. I love you." She placed the phone back down and sipped at her tea, occasionally glancing at the object beside her. Finishing her tea, she placed the mug into the sink and carried the phone into the bathroom, not wanting to miss his call. She set the phone on the floor and drew herself a hot bath. When the water was ready, she relaxed into the tub, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. She slipped further into the water, eyes still closed, thinking about the man she was waiting to receive a call from. Her mind summoned images of him, smiling softly at her, playing with an errant curl, furrowing his brow while looking through a case file. She'd give anything to see him right now, hold him, have him in the bath with her, wrap her legs around him and run a wet cloth over his body, washing away his worries. She wouldn't be able to do that for a few more days now. She sighed and lifted the phone from the floor. It rang in her hand. She looked at the call display and smiled softly. "Hey…"

* * *

He watched as Grissom leaned against his desk, head in hands. "Migraine?"

"No, Under Sheriff."

Brass nodded, knowingly. He'd seen the pressure Grissom had been under and was thankful he'd been demoted from Grissom's position years ago. The Under Sheriff was a giant pain in the ass and Grissom had gone through enough recently without having to deal with the pompous, campaigning asshole. "Enough said." He stood in the doorway, waiting for Grissom to raise his head. After a moment, he stepped into the office and sat across from the night shift supervisor. "How long have you been sitting here in the dark?"

Grissom sat up and stared at him. "Not long. I just finished a nap on my sofa."

"Have you gone home yet?"

Grissom shook his head. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, I've got four names for you."

"Great. Let's see we can get any of them to volunteer their DNA."

Brass stood and moved to the door expecting Grissom to follow. He turned at the door and watched as Grissom checked the messages on his phone. Grissom held the phone in his hand and turned to him. "Jim, bring them in and call Greg. Have him meet you at the station."

"You're not coming?"

"No. Greg can handle it."

Brass nodded and exited the office, closing the door behind him. As he made his way out of the building, he hoped that Grissom would think about getting some more sleep, or at least eating something and cleaning up a little. He'd witnessed Grissom pressing a number into the phone as he left the office and his biggest wish was that Grissom was using the time to call Sara. His friend needed an anchor at the moment. However, for Brass, it wasn't the time to be thinking about Grissom or Grissom's personal needs. He had a job to do. He pulled out his phone and dialed Greg before setting off to round himself up some suspects.

"Why are we all here?"

Brass looked at the man speaking and the three men surrounding him. He glanced over at Greg and back at the men, smirking. "You're here because we're asking you to volunteer us a sample of your DNA."

"You're joking."

"You wish. Do you recognize any of these women?" Brass flipped through some photos of the victims, trying to gage the reactions on the men's faces.

"Never seen them."

"How about any of you?" He looked to the three men standing quietly and watched as they shook their heads. His face hardened. "You haven't? None of you watch the news? Look at a newspaper?" Again they shook their heads. Brass frowned. "Their faces have been plastered all over." He was met by blank expressions.

"Why are you asking us?" The man who had done all of the speaking looked at Brass, disdain written on his face.

"You were at all five hotels a serial murderer hit the nights of the murders."

"What? You're lying. No way."

"I'm not. You were all playing in poker tournaments on those nights."

"Yeah, I heard that some women were killed at some of the hotels we were playing. It doesn't mean anything. It's a coincidence."

He hardened his glance at the young man speaking. "You don't find it upsetting that seven women and a man were all killed at hotels you were at when they were murdered?"

"It's got nothing to do with me."

"In that case, then you wouldn't mind volunteering your DNA so we can eliminate you as suspects." Brass glanced over at Greg, who'd decided to cut in.

"Who are you?"

"Greg Sanders. I'm a CSI with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Well, Captain Brass, Mr. Sanders, you'll need a warrant because I not giving you anything."

"You know that makes you look bad, Mr. Swanson."

"Can it, my mom's a lawyer. Besides, you've got nothing. You're just on a fishing expedition here. You think it might be one of us because we were playing in tournaments where some murders happened. It could be some nut job stalking the hotels and hotel bars, but you don't know who that might be, so you're going after us. I'm out. I'm sure I'll see you later Captain Brass."

Brass looked over at Greg, who shrugged. He cursed inwardly knowing there was nothing he could do. They didn't have anything and Keith Swanson had called their bluff. He turned to the other young men. "You can make it easy on yourselves and give us your DNA and be done with it, or you can count on seeing us again. Do yourselves a favor and give us your DNA so we can eliminate you as suspects."

"Sorry Captain Brass, Keith's right; you're fishing. You'll need a warrant." The man turned to the other two men. "See you boys at the next tournament."

Brass frowned. "Don't go too far." He turned to the remaining two. "What about the two of you? We'll get our warrant, and investigations are never pretty."

The older of the two men stepped forward. "You can have mine. I'm clean."

Brass watched as the other man raised a questioning eyebrow. "Tom?"

"I'm trying to get on the board of directors at the museum. I don't want an investigation ruining my chances." Tom Conklin moved toward the younger man, lowering his voice so that Brass could barely make out the words. "Think about it Bobby. This is the Las Vegas police. Let them go after Keith and Tyson. Don't hurt your family by giving them another target."

The young man followed Tom Conklin's lead, opening his mouth. Brass smirked as Greg swabbed the DNA. "We'll be in touch."

He made his way back to the lab with Greg. While Greg left to drop off DNA samples, he went off in search of Grissom. He found Grissom with Hodges in the trace lab. He eyed the man momentarily. When Grissom came out of the lab, he fell into step with him. "We've got DNA off of two of the men, Tom Conklin and Robert Bryant. The other two, Keith Swanson and Tyson Braddock, refused. You'll need a warrant to get their DNA."

"We aren't going to get one with what we've got now. While we know they were at the casino's, we don't have any proof they were in the hotels."

"And you haven't found anything else that could get us a warrant?"

"No. Wendy did confirm that the DNA under Karin Des Lauriers nails and on her teeth was male."

"Greg's dropping off the DNA samples he collected, so she can run it against them."

"What about those other two?"

"Keith Swanson's twenty, studying at political science at UNLV. Mom's a lawyer and he thinks he's pretty smart. He's the kind of cocky SOB who could have done this."

They stopped walking and stood outside Grissom's office. Grissom led him in and sat down. "And the other guy?"

"Tyson Braddock. He's thirty two, a ranch hand down in Searchlight." He sat in the chair opposite Grissom.

"So he comes up here to play in poker tournaments?"

"That would be my guess."

"Where does he stay while he's here? Does he return to Searchlight? Where did you pick him up at?"

Looking across from him, he noticed the questions rolling through Grissom's mind. He grinned and shook his head. "We called the ranch he works at asking him to come in. The ranch foreman told us he stays with his cousin when he comes here. We picked him up at his cousin's place."

"Braddock stayed around for the day."

"Yeah, the ranch foreman says he always takes the day off following a poker tournament. He figures Braddock blows any winnings in the casino."

"How tall are the two men?"

"Braddock's short, about 5'6. Swanson is taller; I'd say about 5'11, 6'. Why?"

"I think our killer may be shorter. Do you think Tyson Braddock is still in town?"

"Doubtful. He was getting ready to leave when I got to his cousin's. I'm sure he headed back to his cousin's then went straight back to Searchlight. Told him not to go too far, but I doubt he listened."

"Let's go talk to the cousin."

Brass looked over at Grissom, eyebrows raised. If he were to choose, he'd pick Keith Swanson as their perpetrator. The guy was a swaggering ass. However, if Gil Grissom thought the perp was shorter, then the guy was probably shorter. In all the years he'd know Grissom, he realized that the man was hardly ever wrong. Even when the man was close to a burnout and in worse shape than Brass had ever seen him, Brass still trusted Grissom's insight more than any other person's.

* * *

He stood outside the house in Henderson and waited as Brass knocked on the door. A man came out, holding a little girl in his arms. Grissom gazed at the girl, her little fists grasping the man's shirt behind his shoulder blades, her brown locks splayed across the man's neck. "Captain Brass? Tyson isn't here. He went home."

"Actually Mr. Braddock, we came to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, um, can you wait a few minutes. I'm just going to put my girl down." The man turned inside. Grissom continued to stare at the girl on the man's shoulder. Her eyes met his as her father stepped inside the door. "Karen, can you come get Sally?"

Grissom watched as a blond woman came and took the young child from the man's arms. The man stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "What's this about?"

"Jake Braddock, I'd like you to meet Gil Grissom. He's with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Hello." Jake Braddock looked between him and Brass. "What's going on?"

Grissom studied the man. He appeared to be very confused. "Mr. Braddock, your cousin stayed with you last night?"

"Yeah, he stays with us every time he comes to Vegas for a poker tournament. Is Tyson in trouble?"

He ignored the question. "What time did he come in last night?"

"I don't know. Late. We were all asleep."

"Does he always come in late when he stays?"

"Yeah, I guess so. We gave him his own key. He doesn't disturb Karen or the girls when he comes in, so it doesn't bother us when he comes in during the night."

"Karen is your wife?"

"Yes, Karen is my wife. What is this all about?"

He was battling with how much information to give to Jake Braddock. How do you ask someone if he thinks his cousin could be a serial killer? Grissom couldn't answer that question. He sensed the man in front of him was weary of answering the questions he posed, but he pressed on, deciding to tread softly. "Do you see Tyson at all during the day?"

"In the mornings before I go to work. He has breakfast with us. Then, I assume he hits the casinos because he doesn't hang out here with Karen and the girls during the day. He comes back in the afternoon or evening and grabs his stuff before heading home."

"So he doesn't spend much time at your place?"

"No, I guess not. You'd have to ask Karen how long he's here for during the day. Not long enough according to April and Sally."

"Your daughters?"

"Yeah, my daughters. They love their uncle Tyson. He's great with them."

"How old are your daughters?"

"Look Mr. Grissom, I don't know where you're going with this."

"I'm just curious."

"April is four. Sally, the one you saw, is two."

Grissom thought back to the girl who'd been clutching her father's shirt. His response was completely uncharacteristic and he blamed it on his heightened emotions. "She's beautiful."

Jake Braddock nodded and smiled softly. "My little angel. Now, can you please tell me what is going on? Why all these questions about Tyson?"

Just as Grissom was about to speak, the front door opened and Braddock's wife stepped out. "Honey, what's going on?"

"These men have some questions about Tyson."

"Oh?"

He studied the petit blonde in the doorway, and he wondered how she felt about her husband's cousin. "Mrs. Braddock,"

"Karen."

"Karen, does Tyson spend much time at the house during the day when he comes?"

"No, he heads out shortly after Jake. He doesn't come back until he's just about ready to leave."

"Do you ever hear him come in at night?"

"He's pretty quiet. I think I may have heard him last night. I heard the shower in the main bathroom at about two thirty. Jake was beside me and I knew it couldn't be the girls, so it must have been Tyson. He was quiet about it and I went back to sleep. The bathroom was spotless this morning. I didn't even hear him clean."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. He took a small, careful step forward. "Can we see the room where he slept?"

He watched Karen Braddock look at her husband, eyebrows raised. Jake Braddock turned to him. "I don't think so Mr. Grissom. Please, if you aren't going to tell us what this is about, then please leave."

Grissom nodded. He'd overstepped and he knew it. He'd felt their reluctance and still pushed. The gamble hadn't paid off. It was time for a temporary retreat. "Thank you for your time."

He turned and headed back to his Denali, feeling Brass's questioning gaze on him. He stopped by the door and turned to face the detective. "We made them uncomfortable. They won't talk anymore or let us see anything today."

"What's your plan now?"

Grissom sighed. "I don't know. I'd like to pay a visit to Tyson Braddock in Searchlight, but we can't do that tonight. We'll have to head out tomorrow morning."

"Oh goody, a road trip."

"Be ready to head out early."

"Does that mean you are going to head home and get some sleep now?" He frowned at Brass's question.

"I have to head back to the lab. I've got a ton of work waiting for me. Besides, I want to be around when Wendy gets her results. If she found a match with the DNA Greg collected, we won't have to go to Searchlight tomorrow."

"Just make sure you get some sleep, Gil, and for God's sake, take a moment to eat something."

Grissom smiled wearily before opening his truck door and settling into the driver's seat. He enjoyed the silence as he drove back to the lab, finding that when he reached his destination, he didn't want to move from the tranquility his truck had temporarily provided. It seemed like it was the only moment of peace he'd had in days. The phone call to Sara earlier had given him some relief. Her steadfast understanding had helped ease some of the burden. However, speaking to her had reminded him that he was hundreds of miles away from her and wouldn't be seeing her as soon as he'd hoped. He'd hung up the phone and been left with a deep sense of longing. He sat back against the headrest, in quiet contemplation, replaying his last conversation with her, dreaming of running after her and away from the lab. After several minutes of sitting in the parking lot, he resigned himself to opening his truck door, knowing that he couldn't hide forever. He had a job to do and as much as that job was weighing him down, he still had to do it.


	7. Chapter 7

_My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them._

_- Jack Kerouac_

Chapter 7

Agitated. It was the one word that seemed to fit the occasion, the only word she could think to describe him. She'd never seen him so agitated. It was time to run interference. Ever since she'd come in for shift and saw him pacing about, she'd been worried about his mood and what it was going to do to the team. He was in danger of losing everything he'd worked for and he didn't seem to care. It was after watching him hurl his pager across the hall that she decided to step in. She grabbed his arm and dragged him into his office. She pulled him around his desk, pushed him down into his chair and grabbed the assignment slips. "Go home, Gil."

She didn't care that he didn't seem to want to listen. His hard eyes did nothing to deter her. "Go home."

"Catherine, I have work to do."

She braced her arms on his shoulders and held him in his chair, fixing him with hard stare.

"The withering glance of the goddess."

"Excuse me?" She looked down at him, her eyes demanding an explanation.

"It's from _The Philadelphia Story_. Katherine Hepburn glares at Cary Grant the same way. That's Cary Grant's line."

"Whatever." She lifted one arm and waved it angrily before dropping it back to his shoulder. "You want to act like an ass, then by all means. Quote all you want Grissom. It's not going to work with me. Go home. You look like shit. If you work tonight, you'll be into your fourth shift. Brass told me that you two are headed down to Searchlight tomorrow morning, so that will be five straight shifts. Just what are you trying to prove with that stunt? You won't even be able to function. Your brain needs rest." She pushed off his shoulders and crossed her arms, daring him to disagree.

"I have to finish this case."

She couldn't believe him. The level of his obsession over this case was completely unexpected. She'd only seen this obsession a few times, but for the life of her, she wasn't sure why this was one of those times. She racked her brain for a reason, finally convincing herself that he was finally letting the pressure get to him. "You're letting Ecklie and the Under Sheriff get to you. Five minutes ago I saw you throw your pager down the hall, scaring more than a few lab techs. That's not you, Gil. Normally, when you don't want to speak to Ecklie or the Under Sheriff, you ignore the page, not try to break the pager."

"It wasn't Ecklie or the Under Sheriff."

"Then explain it to me. What kind of page got you so riled up that you felt you had to throw your pager?"

"It was Wendy. The DNA on our serial case wasn't a match."

"Brass said you didn't expect it to be. Why would that news cause your reaction?"

"I don't know."

Catherine scoffed and shook her head. "Go home. You can't do anything more tonight and you're dead on your feet."

"I need to finish this case."

She fixed him with another hard stare while discreetly studying him. He was the walking dead, slumped in his chair. His eyes were red. There was no way he could continue on this way. "You need to take some time off. Take a break; get away from the lab, from Ecklie and the Under Sheriff. Go see Sara. I'll handle things here."

"I'm sure you will."

His statement enraged her. "Go to hell, Grissom. People here are trying to look out for you, but you're hell bent on destroying yourself and your career, and don't act like you don't care because I know you do. This job is your life and you're going to lose it. You're letting everything get to you and not thinking straight these days." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I've seen you go through all sorts of moods, and I know this definitely isn't the worst I've seen you, but it's new. I've never seen you like this before. Take some time to get away and clear your head. Go see Sara."

"I'm trying. Every time I try to go see her, something comes up and I get stuck here. Now this damn serial turned back up and I won't be getting away to see her on Thursday, like I had planned."

When his words clicked, her mouth dropped open. She supposed she should have been happy that he was thinking of taking time off and seeing his girlfriend, but she was too irritated by the fact that he hadn't told her. "Thursday? And you going to tell me when?" When he didn't respond, she let out a huff. "Typical."

"Catherine…"

She was no longer in the mood to hear anything he had to say. She cut him off quickly. "Go home." Without waiting for him to respond, she took the assignment slips and walked out of his office.

She was seething as she walked down the hall. She tried to calm herself as she entered the break room, but was still upset. She cut straight to business. "Nicky, you have court tomorrow?" He nodded. "Alright, you get a smash and grab."

"Where's Grissom?"

"He's going home. Greg, keep working on the latest serial murder. See if you can find anything new. Go back to your scene if you have to."

Greg nodded and left the room quickly. Catherine turned to Riley. "Come on, we have a car accident to get to."

* * *

The light filtering under the doorway and out of the room was minimal, but when he knocked softly and opened the door, he was not surprised to see Grissom behind the desk. He smirked. "And here I thought nobody was in."

Grissom's eyes shot up to him. He stepped inside and studied Grissom. "Don't you know that reading in the dark is hard on your eyes?"

"What do you want, Jim?"

"Who are you hiding from? The Under Sheriff? Ecklie? Or is it Catherine?" He paused, watching Grissom's eyebrows rise. "Yeah, it's Catherine, all right. You don't want her to know you're still here. You think that if it's dark enough, you'll fool her into thinking you actually listened to her and went home. You didn't count on two things, my friend. One, Catherine is not a fool. Two, well, you didn't count on me." He sat down across from Grissom. "See, I know for a fact, Catherine sent you home."

"A decision I'm sure you had no part in."

"Who me?" He looked at Grissom, trying to give off his best look of innocence. Not even receiving part of a smile, Brass turned serious. "Look, we're just trying to look out for you."

"I can look out for myself."

"Yeah, it shows." He indicated Grissom's appearance with his hand.

"Why are you here?"

Grissom was clearly agitated. He was sure that Grissom hadn't slept since he'd last left the man after interviewing Jake Braddock. He reasoned that Grissom was overtired and the fatigue was causing Grissom to snap. He tried to lighten the mood again. "I've come to escort you home. I need you fresh for our trip tomorrow."

"Since when did you and Catherine become my keepers?"

"Since you stopped keeping yourself."

"I need to find something before we go to Searchlight. We don't have enough."

"Greg's looking. He'll call you if he finds anything." Grissom looked skeptical. Brass let out a sigh. "Look, it won't matter what you find if your mind can't process it tomorrow. You know that. Now, come on, I'm driving you home. I'll pick you up in the morning." He stood up and hoped his tone left no room for argument.

* * *

He stared absently out the window, watching the desert landscape roll by. Apart from a good morning, Brass hadn't said anything to him and he was thankful. He was also, admittedly, thankful for Brass and Catherine's intervention the night before. He'd needed the rest. It became evident when he arrived home and passed straight out. He'd only awakened, semi-conscious, when Brass had knocked on his door and handed him a to-go cup of coffee.

The drive was peaceful. Every mile that passed gave him time to think and reflect. He thought about Catherine's accusations, that it was the pressure put on him by Ecklie and the Under Sheriff that was driving his obsession. She was right, in a way, but not in the way she thought. His drive to solve the case, on top of the usual reasons, was not an obsession with the case (though it was trying and he did want to catch the guy), or a need release the pressure and appease the people making his life a living nightmare, but rather, to get away from them and see the only person to ever calm his nightmares. He missed Sara. He missed being around a person who was true and genuine and who understood him on every level. He missed her fire. She'd be the last person to take any of the crap the Under Sheriff had been heaping on them. He needed that. He needed to feel like he wasn't the only one fighting against the political machine that had become the lab. If Sara were still at the lab, he knew she'd be fighting, fiercely and ferociously, by his side. He smiled inadvertently.

"What's got you smiling all of a sudden?"

"Huh?" Grissom turned and looked over to see Brass grinning at him. "I was just thinking."

"Judging by that smile, I'd bet the farm those thoughts were hundreds of miles away, perhaps residing in the same place as a fiery young brunette."

He smiled at Brass's choice of adjectives. "Congratulations Jim, you get to keep your farm."

"Speaking of farms, I think we're here."

Grissom glanced back out his window, wondering how the time had passed. Outside the car, sheep were grazing around a well irrigated field, farm hands were milling about and two border collies were barking and chasing the car's tires. Brass parked the car in between two pick-ups. Grissom opened his door and was greeted by the border collies. Seeing them, he realized his own dog had been at the sitters for over a day. He made a mental note to pick up his dog when he got home. Following the thought, he made his way around the car, walking with Brass towards the barn.

Two men were leaning against a fence post, talking in low tones. Grissom could see the tension on the men's faces as he approached. One man's hand came up and covered the man's mouth, fingers and thumb digging into the man's cheeks. The hand closed and dropped. The other man, slightly taller, older, took off his cowboy hat with one hand and ran his free hand through his hair. Grissom watched on. Both men looked up at him as he and Brass approached. The older man turned towards them. "Something I can help you with? Are you lost?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm Detective Jim Brass and this is Gil Grissom," Brass's hand motioned to indicate him. "He's a criminalist with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're looking for Tyson Braddock."

Grissom watched as the older man studied them and shook his head. The man turned to his younger companion. "Billy, call Dr. Anderson again. Tell her we need her out here right away if we want to contain this thing. I'll talk to you later."

The younger man nodded and sauntered away. The older man turned back to them. "We've got some sick sheep. Something's been going around." Grissom felt the man's eyes look him up and down. The man paused for a moment and looked back to Brass. "Captain Brass, I'm Terry Finley, the foreman out here. It was me you spoke to on the phone. Is Tyson in some kind of trouble?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"He was in the shop. Come on, I'll show you there."

Grissom followed the two men, studying his surroundings as he was led to what Terry Finley had called 'the shop.' He was surprised when he entered the barn-like structure and found a row of small pens along one wall and a larger pen along the opposite wall."

"This is what we call 'the shop'. We do most of our shearing in here." Terry Finley frowned. "I don't see Tyson."

Grissom glanced around the building. "You do most of your shearing indoors?"

"Well, it gets bloody hot outside and we like to keep the animals inside for a day or so once there sheared. We only shear a few each day. It takes just over a week to get them all done." Terry Finley shrugged. "It's a small farm, not like the ones you see up in Elko County or anything like that."

He continued to study the room, eyeing the far wall.

"I see our tools caught your eye. We use mechanical shears, but we keep those old hand shears around as antiques. Gives the place a look. All of those hand shears were used here at one time."

Grissom nodded. His eyes continued to wander along the wall. Hanging at the end of the wall was a display of about twenty knives. His eyes lingered on them. "What are these knives for?"

Terry Finley moved to stand next to him. "Oh those. Those are hand made. When we hand picked which hand shears to display, we separated and hung them. The rest of the shears, we made into knives. Billy and I tried our hands at making couple of the knives each, but Tyson made most of them. He's a real artist." Terry Finley stood back and admired the knives. "Put a lot of work into them too. Some of the shears were in bad shape. He had to restore all of the blades." Grissom watched as Terry Finley selected a knife and took it down off the wall. "See that handle? That's California Redwood. He found a fallen tree while traveling in California last year, and managed to bring home a chunk of wood to make his handle." Terry Finley placed the knife back on the wall. "If you want to see a real beauty, you should see the one he kept for himself."

Grissom's eyebrows had risen considerably over the conversation. He looked towards Brass, watching as Brass responded to his unspoken questions with a few nods of the head and a slight cough. Grissom looked back over to Terry Finley. "Mr. Finley, we need to speak with Tyson Braddock."

"Yeah, sure, I'll go check…" The sound of the door sliding open behind them interrupted Terry Finley. They all spun around. Standing in the doorway, staring at them from thirty feet away, was a short man. The man wore faded blue jeans, ripped at the knees, and a light plaid button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The man's curly blond hair was sticking out of under a ball cap. "Oh, great, Tyson, these men wanted to speak to you."

"Hello again Captain Brass."

Grissom looked between the men and noticed Terry Finley doing the same.

"How can I help you today? Still trying to reel in the fish?"

"I thought I told you not to go too far."

"You still found me."

"Yeah, well, I love a morning drive."

"Mr. Braddock," Grissom cut in, "Mr. Finley was telling us about a knife you made by hand."

"I've made a few, Mr.?"

He took a step forward. "Grissom. I'm a criminalist with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Ah, a coworker of Mr. Sanders."

"That's right." He took another step forward, slowly approaching the man.

"I hope you came with a warrant."

Grissom continued moving forward slowly, bridging the gap with each step. "No. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Tyson Braddock leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms in front of him. "And you think I'll have the answers."

"I'm hoping you will." He took a few more steps until he was right in front of Tyson Braddock. His eyes traveled up and down slowly, careful in their perusal. "Mr. Braddock, that's an interesting bite on your arm."


	8. Chapter 8

_Let judges secretly despair of justice: their verdicts will be more acute. Let generals secretly despair of triumph; killing will be defamed. Let priests secretly despair of faith: their compassion will be true._

_- Leonard Cohen_

Chapter 8

It happened so fast. After months of nothing but more dead women, the case broke wide open. It felt surreal; they'd looked for so long, with no results, and out of nowhere, pay dirt. He'd stood back and watched it all. He watched as Grissom took no time in procuring a warrant after spotting the bite mark on Tyson Braddock's arm. He watched as Tyson Braddock's face became devoid of emotion. He watched as an officer from Searchlight came to secure the suspect and the scene. He watched as Greg arrived with the warrant, and quickly went about collecting DNA and taking a bite impression. He watched as both Grissom and Greg searched Tyson Braddock's room and found Braddock's hand made knife laid out on velvet in a wooden box. Beside him the entire time, Terry Finley watched as well. Brass could feel the disbelief radiating off the farm foreman.

At the lab, he watched as the evidence was brought in and analyzed. A mere few hours later, after talking over the results with Grissom, he had no doubt they'd found their man. It felt good, surreal, but good. He felt confident heading into the interrogation room. Pulling up a chair across from Braddock, he waited for Grissom to take a seat next to him before he began. He took a moment to stare at Braddock, hoping to make the man uncomfortable. He detected nothing as Braddock sat, staring straight back him. He cleared his throat. "Braddock, why don't you make this easy on yourself and confess."

He hoped the words would open up something in Braddock's expression, but it remained unchanged. Brass found himself staring across from Braddock's best poker face. Braddock remained silent. He tried again. "We have more than enough evidence to convict you." He looked over at Grissom, signaling for Grissom to continue. He watched as Grissom leaned forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table.

"Your DNA was found on Karin Des Lauriers' teeth and under her finger nails. The bite impression on your arm matches her teeth. We found traces of blood between the blade and handle of your knife."

"You really should clean in the cracks," Brass cut in, smirking. He let the smirk drop as Tyson Braddock's eyes caught fire. It was gone in a flash, but he'd caught the anger. Braddock resumed his control. The poker face returned. Brass looked over at Grissom, knowing Grissom would have caught the momentarily loss of control as well. Grissom raised his eyebrows and Brass smiled. He waited to see how Grissom would handle the brief insight Braddock had inadvertently allowed.

"You're a poker player."

"Am I a poker player?" Braddock finally spoke, for the first time.

"No, it wasn't a question; it was an observation. I know you play poker. I used to play too, in college. Tell me, when you play poker, do you concentrate on your own cards, or do you look for the other players tells?" Braddock said nothing. "I always look for player's tells. I earned a fair share of money reading my opponents at the table. You see, every player has his tells. Unfortunately for you, yours are your eyes. Do you where sunglasses when you play?"

"No."

"You should. Your eyes give you away."

Brass watched the scene with interest. Braddock's face gave away nothing. "Well, Dr. Grissom, one poker player to another, tell me, what do you see in my eyes?"

"I don't see any guilt. You feel no remorse for what you've done. The first time I saw you, I detected amusement. When I noticed your arm, I caught a glimpse of fear. Since then, I've seen both pride and anger. You're very good at maintaining control, but every so often, you slip."

"You're bluffing, Dr. Grissom. I've seen the news. I know how important this case is to your under sheriff. He's trying to get elected sheriff and you're handing him a patsy. He needed a scapegoat, so you're giving him me. You're sacrificing me for the Under Sheriff."

Brass laughed out loud at the ludicrous statement, then leaned forward, his voice lowering in anger. "Listen Tyson, you better watch what you say. We don't take slander too lightly." His eyes narrowed. He could feel his own control slipping. Fortunately Grissom cut in.

"I never bluff, Mr. Braddock. I don't have to; I have evidence. The cards are on my side."

Tyson Braddock scoffed. Jim stood up and leaned across the table, smirking. "Tyson, don't try to out play Grissom. You can't. You aren't a good enough poker player. You've entered satellite after satellite, but you've never made it to the show." Braddock sat back, silent once again. Brass stood straight up. "You don't want to confess? Fine, we don't need it. We have all the evidence we need." He turned to the officer by the door. "Take him back to his cell."

* * *

It bothered him, the number of times he'd lost concentration. Testifying wasn't new to him. He'd testified countless times before. He'd lost count of all the trials he'd gone through. Why, he wondered, was he losing focus now? It seemed as though he was merely going through the motions, trying to recall information that seemed just beyond his reach. He looked out into the stands and was met by the face of a lost little boy. The boy wore a badge, invisible, but still there: _Jack Tyler, victim_. Nick couldn't look away. Little Jack Tyler's eyes no longer held life, yet as they stared into his, they still pierced his soul. Apart from the condemning stare, the boy seemed unaffected, as though he didn't or couldn't notice the setting or the activity around him. The boy even looked as though he was unaware of his own mother's protective embrace. Why was Jack Tyler even there? Nick shook off his thoughts and tried to focus on the defense attorney's line of questioning. He needed to remain professional, concentrate on the questions and respond with the appropriate answers if he was going to nail the bastard that shattered one boy's innocence and left a mother questioning her ability to shelter her son from a cruel world.

He'd managed to keep his focus for the remainder of the cross examination. When the defense attorney asked his last question and he answered it without hesitation, he breathed a sigh of relief. Release from the stand, he exited the courtroom and leaned against the hall wall, using it for support as he attempted to clear his head and decompress. He briefly wondered if empathy was his enemy, if the empathy he'd had for each victim and each victim's family was beginning to impede his ability to do his job. His lost concentration was borne of empathy and had nearly cost him his ability to explain evidence he'd collected to a jury. For the first time he could remember, he was weary of his own compassion. As soon as the though had come he tried to fight it. In the past, he rallied against any idea that suggested compassion and empathy could be an enemy. His empathy made him do his job better, try harder, fight harder and though it often left him heartbroken and angry, it gave him the strength to continue.

He was torn, questioning himself, battling between despair and the knowledge of who he was and why he was. He felt so lost. He wanted to hang onto his empathy. He wanted to argue that it was people who cheapened his emotions and questioned their efficacy, who were the real enemies. Each time someone, like the Under Sheriff or the defense attorney he'd just left, questioned his professionalism due to his empathy, they were doing the victims injustice and it made him angry. These men spoke of justice while exploiting it. It was their lack of compassion that destroyed many victims' chances of receiving the justice they spoke of. Nick knew the defense attorney never wanted a just verdict for his client; that would mean he would lose his case. Following the same reasoning, Nick knew the Under Sheriff never cared if Warrick ever received any justice, for that would paint the police department badly and suggest that the Under Sheriff wasn't doing his job. While he knew these men hurt the very cause they spoke of, he couldn't help but question his own role in the increasing injustice. Perhaps he was too empathetic. He'd almost let his empathy destroy the case he'd built with the DA. Perhaps the people who questioned his empathy were right; perhaps it did get in the way of his professionalism. He wished it wasn't the case, hoped it wasn't. If it was, and his empathy did hurt more than it helped, he didn't know what was left for him.

He returned to the police department, confused, angry and tired. There was a frenzy of people around the entrance. He stopped, frozen in his spot, curious as to what was happening, yet weary to draw nearer and become involved in the scene. He looked around and noticed Catherine walking briskly towards him. "Cath, what's going on?"

"Impromptu press conference. You don't want to go there. Let's get out of here and grab some dinner." She grasped his arm and began to lead him away.

He frowned, knowing the Under Sheriff was behind the press conference. He needed confirmation. "What's it about?"

"The Pharaoh Killer case. Grissom found the guy. They have him in custody."

"And the Under Sheriff is letting all of the citizens of Las Vegas know."

"Yeah. He'll be holding an official press conference later, but for now he seems to be enjoying all the front step drama."

"Taking the credit."

"Milking it for all it's worth. Now, let's leave him to his circus and go eat."

"I don't think I'm hungry."

"Come on Nicky, you've seen this before. Don't let it bother you now. I know you've had a rough day, having to testify in a sexual abuse case and all, but you can't let it get to you."

"Jack Tyler was there."

"The little boy?"

"Yeah."

"In the court room?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Nick shook his head sadly. He turned back towards the scene at the entrance of the building, watching the Under Sheriff smiling into the camera and microphones. "The Under Sheriff is smiling."

"You can't let the Sheriff get to you either, Nick. He's a giant ass, but at least with this under his belt, he'll get off our backs for a couple days. Let the Under Sheriff soak it all up. If it didn't happen now, it would later. At the end of the day, we know who's really responsible."

"I suppose you're right."

"Damn right I am. Come on, I'll buy you a steak."

He wanted to go home and crawl into bed. He wanted to escape everything he was feeling, the anger and the confusion. He wanted to close his eyes and search for clarity or anything that would enable him to continue on. He needed to talk to someone about his doubts, have someone reassure him. He looked to Catherine. She was nudging him and smiling. He let himself go for a moment and returned her smile. "Alright."

* * *

It was done. It was his last case before taking a week off. He wanted to get out of there. Unfortunately, on his way out of the building, he and Brass were stopped by the Under Sheriff. "Grissom, are we going to get a conviction?"

"The DNA evidence is compelling."

"So, then, we have him for the Des Lauriers murder. What about the others? Have we caught the Pharaoh Killer?"

"He's the signature killer responsible for the murders."

"You're sure? I want to make an announcement, but I don't want to shoot the wad too soon. I've seen that happen. I won't make that mistake, not with an election in less than three weeks. I want to be sure."

"He's your killer. The blood we found on the knife belonged to Hillary Gerard."

"You could get DNA off the blood you found on the knife?"

"Yes."

"He didn't clean the knife, bleach it, or do anything to degrade the DNA?"

"The knife is hand made. He restored the blade and carved the handle himself. It's his prized possession. He might have been worried about damaging the wood. He cleaned the knife, but not with bleach."

"Good work, both of you. I don't have to tell you what this means."

"No, you don't." Grissom could barely suppress his distaste for the Under Sheriff. The Under Sheriff merely scowled at him. He turned and walked away.

"I don't think he likes you very much."

He turned and looked back at Brass. "Good, then it's mutual."

Brass chuckled and shook his head. "You know, if it wasn't for your reputation, there is no way you'd still have a job here."

"I am aware of that."

"What does it feel like to be inexpendable?"

Grissom thought about the question. "I'm not inexpendable, Jim. They just haven't yet figured out a way to expend of me."

"You better hope they never do."

Grissom said nothing, but smiled sadly, leaving Brass in the hall. He exited the building just media began to circle the front steps. He looked back for a moment and saw Brass by the front door, speaking with Catherine. They looked in his direction before looking away. He was surprised when Catherine never approached him, but merely shook her head. He waited for her to come to him. He stood in the parking lot, waiting, but she never moved in his direction. He watched as Nick's truck pulled up and Catherine finally moved, but not to him. She rushed to meet Nick, steering Nick away from the ever-growing crowd. He sighed and got into his truck, watching as Catherine and Nick spoke in the parking lot. After minutes of watching, he turned the key, put the truck into gear and drove back to the lab.

When he reached his office, he flopped down into the chair and let out a long sigh of relief. It was over. He would take the next day to wrap up any loose ends, make his meeting with Maddie Klein, and pack so that he could fly out early Friday morning. He knew he had to get away. He needed to now more than ever. He needed Sara more than ever. Catching the signature killer only lifted a small weight from his shoulders. There was still so much consuming him.

He felt as though everything was getting away from him. Watching Catherine and Nick in the parking lot made it all the more apparent that his team no longer looked to him. He was still the intellectual leader, but emotionally, they were worlds apart. When the team had problems, they drifted to each other and no longer stopped by his door. He watched Nick fight to make it through each day, each shift. He witnessed Greg growing into a man, losing more and more of his youthful, playful innocence, and instead becoming more solemn as time passed, displaying an underlying compassion he had never before witnessed in the young man. Catherine was trying to bridge the ever growing gap, but he found it hard to talk to her, to tell her what he knew inside himself and Catherine wasn't trying as hard as she used to. The amazingly strong woman he knew had lost some of her fight, or maybe it was only lost it when it came to communicating with him.

He still tried to protect them, made sure they were taking care of each other, and they were, in a way he was never able to. He watched them grow and diminish, all at the same time. He watched them change, saw the anger, the defeat, shadow their eyes. He saw the love and light dance across them when they had each other to lean on. He wanted to be the man they came to, the man they'd been coming to for years, but he'd lost that. He despaired of his leadership. He'd failed to be there for Warrick when Warrick needed him. He couldn't bear to fail the others in the same way. Every decision he made, he based it around his team and their need for each other. He separated himself off. He was alone, felt more alone than he ever had. They no longer needed him and he wouldn't allow himself to need anyone…except Sara. She was the one person he could no longer deny needing.

He sat back in his chair and contemplated every decision he'd made recently. He'd chosen to scrutinize them from a distance, watch from afar. He found himself checking up on them, studying their forms day to day, handing out assignments based on who he thought needed who that day. He thought about the last time he handed out assignments. Catherine had needed a dependable rock to lean on when she was assigned a building collapse. Nick had needed someone strong to help him see his way through tragedy. He had paired them together. Greg had needed someone to remind him of the fun in life and so Grissom had chosen Riley for Greg. He could only give them a foundation; he could no longer build the house. They were building the house without him.


	9. Chapter 9

_You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty._

_- Mahatma Gandhi _

Chapter 9

There was a crowd of people watching the news when he entered the break room. He pushed through and stared at the screen. "What's going on?"

"The Under Sheriff's official press conference. You and Grissom closed the serial; why aren't you there?"

Greg looked over at Wendy and shrugged. He hadn't even realized the Under Sheriff had called an official press conference. He'd just passed Grissom in his office and knew Grissom wasn't there either, though it was probably more by choice than any other reason. Greg surmised that in all likelihood, Grissom was asked to attend and flatly refused. He turned his attention back to the T.V. where the Under Sheriff was praising the excellent work of the crime lab and the criminalists involved in the investigation.

Greg counted. The Under Sheriff dropped the name, Dr. Gil Grissom, seventeen times during the press conference. It wasn't out of praise, or admiration, or even gratuity; the man was taking credit for Grissom's involvement and using Grissom's reputation as an election ploy. Could anybody else see it or would they all be taken in by the Under Sheriff's charms? He laughed quietly and shook his head; the Under Sheriff didn't have any charm.

"How long do you think the Under Sheriff's going to piggyback on Grissom's reputation?" Greg spun towards Wendy. Wendy saw it, of course she would. Then he looked around at the other occupants of the room. Archie and Mandy were snickering. They saw it; they all saw it. They were all aware of what the Under Sheriff was doing. He wondered if Grissom knew. Grissom couldn't know. If Grissom knew, there would be no way he'd stand for it. He wanted to be sure of it, but the way Grissom had been acting recently, Greg wondered if Grissom knew and had become resigned to it.

His eyes were fixed on the screen. He barely registered the lab tech's scattering around him. He turned to see what had caused their sudden departure and noticed Grissom entering the room. He watched as Grissom glanced briefly at the T.V. screen before looking away and heading over to the coffee pot. Greg continued to stare at his boss. Grissom turned and faced them. Greg slowly backed up, seating himself on the sofa next to Nick. He squirmed, feeling as though he was being scrutinized by Grissom. He felt guilty for watching part of the press conference, as though watching it was somehow disloyal to Grissom. He relaxed, guiltily, when he noticed that the brunt of Grissom's watchful gaze was on Nick. He looked over at Nick and saw that Nick didn't seem to take notice. He turned back to Grissom and waited for him to speak.

"Nick, you have a home invasion in Henderson. You're solo tonight."

Greg raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Nick. Noticing a grateful expression on Nick's face, he felt mildly relieved. He turned back to Grissom and took a deep breath, braving himself to speak. "What have you got for me?"

"You and Riley have a missing person."

He smiled, nodded and took the slip from Grissom only to have it snatched out of his hand by Riley. He looked over at her and noticed her grin as she headed out the door. He chased after her. "Hey, he handed me the slip."

* * *

He was relieved to be heading out solo. He needed the chance to prove to himself that he could still do the job. He felt as though he needed to prove that his empathy was his strength and not his weakness. The thought had been lingering in his mind all evening; empathy could be his enemy. Despite all of Catherine's reassurances over dinner, he still found himself questioning his compassion. He hoped empathy was his ally, but if it proved that his empathy was standing in his way, he would find a way to fight it. He would bury it, just as he'd seen Grissom do time and time again.

It wouldn't be simple. He wasn't given an easy case to get back on his horse. A home invasion was always so…invasive. It involved terror, violation. Experiences were always heightened when they happened in your own home. He wondered if the family would ever feel safe there again. It was the kind of case that would always bring out his empathy.

He pulled up to the house and took a deep breath. The home's occupants were huddled together, blankets draped over their shoulders. Their faces held a mixture of shock and fear. A young child had her head buried in her mother's thigh. The mother's hand smoothed over the child's hair as the young girl's shoulders shook. Nick already found himself wanting to run to the girl, pick her up and carry her away from the scene. He wanted to protect her and her older brother, who stood holding his mother's hand. He stayed in the car, squeezing his eyes shut and taking more deep breaths before slowly opening the door. He was about to be tested.

* * *

His sleep had been restless. He stirred, moving his head and feeling moisture brush across his cheek. He pushed his head up and felt the pillow with his palm. It was damp. He swiped his hand over his eyes and found a bead of liquid in the corner of his eye. He'd wept in his sleep, though he wasn't sure why. The sensation was new. It wasn't the first time he'd cried in his pillow. He used to sob, every night, in his sleep when he was nine. A year ago, he'd awaken every morning for a week, weeping softly into Sara's neck and shoulder. The thing that was confusing him was why he was doing it now.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. His feet came off the bed and met the floor. He leaned forward, closing his eyes and opening them again when he felt his dog lick his hands. He reached out and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Hey Hank, do you want to go out?" He stood up and pulled on his robe. Walking out into the kitchen, he grabbed the leash from the hanger beside the door and fastened it onto Hank's collar. Once the leash was fastened, he felt the familiar yank and found himself being dragged out the door.

Normally, would allow Hank a few minutes to run around outside. He looked at his watch and realized that he didn't have that time. He had a meeting with Madeline Klein to get to. With that thought, he began to tug on Hank's leash, pulling the dog back inside. He unhooked the leash and began to get ready for his meeting.

The silence was unsettling. He sat across from Maddie Klein, staring at her, unsure of how to begin. He hadn't found anything new. In nine meetings over two months, he'd yet to give her any news. He waited and watched her. She looked annoyed. She always looked annoyed. Perhaps she was wondering when he'd stop wasting her time. "Thanks for seeing me, Maddie."

"I hear you solved your serial."

"Yeah…how?"

"I saw the press conference. The Under Sheriff seemed to be using it to his advantage."

"Well, you know McKeen."

Maddie Klein nodded and began tapping her fingernails on her desk. Grissom watched the pads of her fingers falling down to meet the wood before rising back up again, over and over. It was mesmerizing. He looked away, trying to refocus. "Maddie, do you find it interesting that the Sheriff hasn't conducted any of the press conferences? Normally he would be the one addressing the press."

"I'm sure he's just allowing the Under Sheriff to conduct them to help McKeen with the election."

"I thought that two, but Burdick doesn't seem to want to speak to the press at all. He's not re-running for Sheriff. I'm curious as to why. Why is Burdick withdrawing from politics and hiding from the press? Does he have something to hide?" He wasn't sure where the words, the thoughts came from, but there they were, out of his mouth before he could even process them himself. Maddie Klein looked at him, shock written across her face.

"Grissom, you're out of your mind. You've completely lost it. Don't sit there and tell me you think Burdick is the man you're looking for."

He sighed. "No, I'm not suggesting that. I don't have any evidence to support that. I'm grasping at straws. I just wish I had somewhere to start."

"Well, it's not a good idea to start with the Sheriff, not without evidence. That's not a good career move Grissom and before you say it, yes, I know you don't care, but I'm sure that others do, your team for instance..." She trailed of and he nodded, trying to pretend it was true, trying to convince himself it was true. His nod didn't hold much conviction. Madeline Klein rolled her eyes.

"Realistically, I know it wasn't the Sheriff. Whoever was behind it all, Warrick, Gedda, was motivated by the maintenance of power. Burdick's giving up his power."

"You're done with the Sheriff business?" Grissom nodded. He was done with it for now. He'd leapt, uncharacteristically, without evidence, but with only a passing thought, a very unfeasible passing thought. "Good, now you're starting to sound sensible."

He sighed again. "I'm still without a starting point."

"Grissom, I want to help you, but if you want my help, you'll need to find one."

"I know."

It was quiet again. He sat back and stared at Madeline Klein. Her eyes stared back at him. His phone rang.

He looked at her and apologized before opening his cell phone. "Grissom." Brass's voice entered his ear. He shook his head. "No, call someone else. I'm busy." He looked around and ran his hands through his hair. "Jim, I'm finishing up the serial today and I'm leaving tomorrow." He paused and shook his head, though he knew Brass couldn't see it. "Call someone else."

He glanced at Madeline Klein. Her eyebrows were raised. She was clearly amused. He let out a resigned sigh and spoke back into the phone, "Fine, where are you?"

He closed the phone and stood up. "Sorry, I have to go. I'll get in touch with you later."

* * *

He looked at the phone in his hands, hating himself for having made the call. He knew he had to. He needed Grissom. He needed Grissom's expertise. He would have called anyone else if he could. There was no one else. Everyone, as he'd told Grissom, was unavailable. It was a moot point now; Grissom was, unhappily, on his way.

He made small talk with the police officers who'd come down from Overton while waiting for Grissom. It was awkward and uncomfortable. Time seemed to slow. While it was only a couple of hours, it felt like an eternity. He breathed a noticeable sigh of relief when he saw the dust fly up around Grissom's approaching vehicle. After excusing himself from the officers, Brass headed towards the parking vehicle. He met Grissom by the door. "Thanks for coming. I just need you examine the body, go with it to autopsy, do all of the preliminary work. You can hand it off to Catherine when she gets back from wherever it is that she, Lily and Lindsay went for her day off."

"What have we got?"

"Male db. A group of school kids from Logandale and a couple of their teachers found the body when they were taking a diving lesson." He indicated a group of children huddled close together, talking with police officers.

"It's summer. Why would a group of school kids be taking a diving lesson during summer vacation?"

Brass looked over at the twelve kids wrapped in blankets, shaking from the experience. He shook his head. "Apparently the kids are part of some kind of global outreach program. They spent all of the last school year raising money for a town and school in Costa Rica. Apparently they raised a lot of money and weren't ready to quit when the school year ended. They sent what they earned and made plans to continue fundraising throughout the summer. The teachers in charge of the program thought it would be a nice reward if the kids could take their next set of earnings to the town personally. Local businesses in the town offered to help pay for the trip. The kids are supposed to fly there in November."

"Okay, so why were they diving on Lake Mead? Was it part of their fundraising?"

"No. The teacher sponsors thought that it would be fun for the kids to do some diving while they were down there. They thought it would be better to do the diving lessons at home, so the kids could have more time diving in Costa Rica and not have to spend all their 'fun time' learning to dive." He looked back at the kids, all young, ages ranging from ten to twelve. Some were crying. He turned back to Grissom, shaking his head sadly, his voice softening. "I feel bad for those kids, you know, all that time spent raising money for other people and when they take a moment for themselves, how are they rewarded?"

Brass watched Grissom, waiting for a response, a quote, something. Grissom just shook his head. "Where was the body found?"

"Around thirty yards from a small cove about half way between Echo Bay and Overton Beach. Divers photographed the body for you before pulling it up. It's not pretty. Whatever bugs were in the water were getting at the body. You'll have to deal with the decomp."

"I'll need to see where the body was found."

Brass nodded. "I have a boat waiting to ferry you out there."


	10. Chapter 10

_Remember that no man loses any other life than this which he now lives, nor lives any other than this which he now loses._

_- Marcus Aurelius_

Chapter 10

_When they take a moment for themselves, how are they rewarded?_ The words kept repeating in his head as he was ferried out to the dump site. When they reached the site, he glanced around, examining the surroundings. The site was remote, a small cove, surrounded by vegetation, lush and green. The true beauty of the location was its seclusion. It looked as though it was one of the few sites around Las Vegas that had been relatively undisturbed. It should have remained undisturbed and would have if someone hadn't chosen to dump a body there. It would have remained undisturbed if they hadn't had to call in divers and police to investigate the area, lifting stones, brushing away plants and marking man's footprint on the area. The once untouched, natural haven became a place of activity. Divers continued to drop from their boats and into the water, taking pictures and video footage. Policemen stood on shore, pale, looking down into the water and away from the site beside them, twisting their boots back and forth into the mud. Beside the officers, lying on plastic and flattening the vegetation below, was the body.

Grissom's arrival coincided with the discovery of a gun on the lake floor. As he saw the diver surface with the offending item, he quickly pulled out an evidence bag and held it open for the diver. He sealed the bag and motioned for the driver of the boat to bring him to shore. He stepped onto the land and looked down at the body. Microbes had begun the decomposition but had been helped by, what he assumed were fish. The body had been nibbled on. Viscera was leaking out of the stomach and he wondered if the fish ate away at the abdomen first. Looking at the body, he knew it would be difficult to get an accurate time of death.

He began photographing, bending in to get a closer look with each photo, zooming in to capture the presence of various water bred organisms. Around the body, land bred insects were beginning to encroach. He looked up at Brass. "We'll have to get this body back to the lab right away if we want to prevent cross contamination." Brass nodded and pulled out his phone. Grissom hurriedly collected specimens, placing them into jars. He turned to the police officers. "Grab the sheet. We'll lift the body into the boat." He grabbed the sheet on one side, helping the officers before following the body into the boat.

Classic rock penetrated the walls of the morgue. He pushed the gurney through the doors, watching as Doc Robbins' head snapped up. Doc Robbins turned down the music and moved towards the body, pulling the sheet up. "Decomposing body. Not much left of the face. Gil, you certainly brought me a pleasant one."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Do you think we could get prints?"

"Your hand or mine?"

Grissom held out a gloved hand and waited for Doc Robbins to cut the skin from the hand and fit it over his. He allowed Doc Robbins to take the prints before removing the skin and his glove. He lifted the print card. "I'll take this to Mandy and let you get started. Maybe we can get an id on the victim."

He dropped off the print card and began looking over the organisms he'd collected. As he looked through the microscope, he grew puzzled. The body was at least a few days old, but hadn't surfaced yet. It should have been a floater, but the group of school children who had found the body found it under water. He continued study the organisms as he puzzled over the questions rotating through his head. After an hour, with only a minutely closer understanding, he lifted his head, sighed and headed down to the morgue.

"Al, I have a question. I believe the body is four to six days old. It should have been floating, yet it was still weighed down under water when it was discovered."

"I have an explanation for that. The victim was stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. The stomach and intestines were punctured. The punctures would slow down the build up of gases."

"Is COD stabbing?"

"It was exsanguination, but not from stabbing. The stabbing happened post mortem."

He looked over at Doc Robbins, raising his eyebrows. "The killer stabbed the victim after he was dead?"

"Yes, probably just before the killer dumped the body."

"The killer knew it would surface. Someone didn't want this body found."

Doc Robbins nodded and moved over the body. "Are you interested in COD?"

"He was shot."

Doc Robbins looked up at him. "Yes, twice in the head. I found these embedded in the cerebrum." Doc Robbins handed him two bullets.

Grissom took the bullets and placed them in an envelope. "Thanks. I'll get them to ballistics."

He moved through the halls, envelope in hand, until he came upon ballistics. He looked in on Bobby Dawson staring at a computer screen. "Are you busy, Bobby?"

"Just something for day shift. What can I do for you."

"I need you to process these bullets against the gun from the Lake Mead case." He handed him the envelope.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. When you get the results, give them to Catherine. I'm handing the case off to her." He turned and headed to his office, hoping to close up his serial murder. Instead, he found himself pouring through text books, hoping to narrow down the TOD on the Lake Mead body. As he flipped through the texts, he thought back to a trip to Seattle years before, where he and two other forensic entomologists from North America, studied the decomposition of a pig under water. They had each studied a pig in a different location, Cedar River, Lake Sammamish, and Puget Sound. He'd studied the pig in Puget Sound, so was most familiar with its results. He tried to think back to the results from the pig in Lake Sammamish.

After a couple of hours of reading through texts and trying to trigger his memory, he realized he was being drawn into the case. He shook his head and recorded all of his findings, determined to hand them off to Catherine the moment she stepped into the lab. A soft knock sounded on his door. "Come in."

The door opened and Mandy stood in the doorway looking hesitant. "I have an id for your Lake Mead victim."

"I thought I asked you to give the results to Catherine when she came in."

"You did. I thought you would want to see them."

He looked up. Mandy stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. He raised his eyebrows and stared at her. She moved slowly, tentatively, and placed the file on his desk. He pulled on his glasses and opened the file. His eyes widened. He closed the file quickly. "Mandy, did you show this to anyone?"

"No."

"Did you tell anyone, talk to anyone?"

She shook her head.

"Mandy, these results are confidential. Do you understand?" She nodded. "You can't tell anyone. Nobody can know about this yet." Mandy nodded again. He could read the misapprehension on her face. He sighed and softened his voice. "I'll talk to Brass."

Mandy nodded again. He stood up and opened the door for her, grasping her upper arm as she moved by him. She turned and looked at him. He looked back briefly before dropping his eyes to the floor. He looked back up. "Thank you Mandy." She nodded. He let go of her arm, allowing her to pass. He looked out into the hall and noticed Nick staring at him. He sighed and closed the door.

Leaning back in his chair, he ran his hand over his mouth. He sighed again, unsure of how many times a sigh had crossed his lips that day. He leaned forward and pulled open his cell, dialing Brass. "Jim, I need to see you. Come to my office." He ended the call and dialed another number, this time getting voicemail. "Hey Sara, something's come up. I won't be able to make it to San Francisco. Can you call me when you get this?"

He sat back in his chair, waiting for Brass to arrive, lamenting his inability to get out of the lab, and feeling something close to devastation at not being able to see Sara. He waited silently, staring at his tarantula, lost in his thoughts. He closed his eyes in relief when he heard Brass's knock. He stood up and opened the door, pulling Brass inside.

"What's with you?"

"I have an id on the victim."

"I thought you were handing that off to Catherine."

Grissom sighed yet again and sat down, indicating for Brass to take a seat as well. He looked at Brass and tossed him the file. "It's Daniel Pritchard."


	11. Chapter 11

_And a rock feels no pain;  
And an island never cries._

_- Simon & Garfunkel_

Chapter 11

Brass stared at the file, mouth agape. He thought about how he'd asked Grissom to do all of the preliminary processing and was caught between guilt and relief. While he felt genuinely guilty for handing Grissom a case that would effectively end Grissom's chances of getting away from the lab for a much needed rest, he couldn't help but feel even more relieved that he had Grissom here to work the case. After staring at the file, looking across at Grissom's ashen face, and quickly dropping his eyes to the file again, he placed the file onto the desk and sat back in his chair. "How long has he been dead?"

"My best estimate is five days."

"Estimate?"

"Estimate. I need more time to be sure."

"So, five days…Saturday?"

"Sometime over the weekend for sure."

"Why would he be killed now? Two months later? Why didn't he just skip town, never to return? What was he doing here?"

"That's something we'll need to find out."

He nodded. "Yeah." He leaned forward and picked the file back up, staring down at Pritchard's photo. He'd wanted to get at Pritchard for two months, shake him, ask him who was behind everything. He looked across the table, noticing that Grissom had managed to mask his emotions, only allowing traces of fatigue to be seen. As important as this case was to him, he knew it was doubly, triply important to Grissom. He gave Grissom a half smile. "Well, I guess I have some work to do. I'll head out to Overton and see if anyone recalls seeing Pritchard around."

He stood up and watched Grissom nod. He moved towards the door and placed his hand on the handle. He turned back and looked at Grissom. "Gil, we're going to get this guy." He waited for a response. Grissom only nodded, lips pursed. It was a sad nod, one given by someone who wasn't entirely convinced. "We will."

He moved to leave again. Grissom's voice stopped him. "Jim." He turned around and watched as Grissom struggled to find his voice. He waited patiently. "I asked Mandy to keep this confidential. Right now, the only people who know that our corpse is Daniel Pritchard are Mandy, you and I. Don't disclose anything to anyone."

"What about the…"

"No, Jim, no one." He raised his eyebrows. Grissom's face softened. "Not yet anyhow."

* * *

The disappointment washed over her. She knew she should have expected it, yet she was hopeful that this time would have been different. He had assured her he wasn't taking any more cases, so what happened to prevent him from coming? She'd tried to ask him when she'd called back, but he hadn't answered, only speaking her name so softly, the sound was barely audible. In that quiet voice she could detect the resignation, the deep, profound and utterly heartbreaking resignation. It scared her. So, in response, she offered to go to him, but he didn't want her there. What had happened? What did it mean for them?

She sank back into her chair, pulling an afghan over her legs as she curled the beneath her. She sat silently, watching the rain drops splash against the window, her last conversation with Gil replaying through her mind. He had assured her he still wanted to see her, had told her that he needed to get away, needed to be the one to come to her. He had whispered that same promise he'd whispered so many times before. _Soon Sara. _He'd whispered it so many times, the words were beginning to lose their meaning. She found herself wondering if she would always be waiting for a man who may never come, a man who may never be able to leave the life that had been safe and secure and predictable.

Yet, he sounded so sad. Where did the sadness stem from? Was he sad because he couldn't come to see her, or was it because he was slowly letting go of the life she'd offered him?

The questions left her sad, sad because she wasn't at all sure of the answer and even sadder because, somehow, she wasn't afraid of it. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, feeling the stickiness on her cheeks. She picked up her phone, calling him and getting the voice mail. "Gil, I'm coming to Vegas. I know you asked me not to, but I want to see you and I think we need to talk. Call me back." Her voice hitched and she could barely speak her last word. She swallowed the obstruction in her throat and choked out the word. "Bye."

She closed her phone and reached for her radio, scanning the channels until she found a station playing an old radio show. She pulled back her hand and curled under her blanket, letting the story teller's voice offer her momentary comfort.

* * *

It was stupid, possibly even juvenile, and he knew it, but he was still ignoring her calls. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he was afraid to face her or to speak with her, afraid of how she may see him. When his cell rang again and he looked at the call display to see her name, he let the call go to voicemail. He waited minutes before checking to see if she left a message. She had. Her voice sounded worried and confused. Nick wasn't sure what to do. He had changed. In the past twenty four hours, he had become a different man.

He'd treated his last assignment, his home invasion, with professional detachment. He'd processed, finished quickly, logged in the evidence in short time. The evidence matched another case, but he had no suspect to link it to. Never-the-less, everything he could process, was processed, and was done without any personal involvement. He didn't look into the family's eyes and feel the violation as they told him what happened. No, he didn't let that distraction occur. He moved quickly, expertly, expediently, and blocked all thoughts at what may be going through their heads. Somehow it felt liberating not to feel.

How could he explain those changes to her? He couldn't; he didn't know how. He had felt he could tell her anything, but he couldn't tell her this. He couldn't explain it. Jessica had understood him, but the person she understood was the old Nick. She'd never understand the new Nick, and he couldn't think of a way to make her understand. He sighed and placed his phone back into his pocket.

He walked through the lab, self-conscious, wondering if anyone could sense the change in him, and if they could, what they were thinking. He spotted Mandy and Grissom in the doorway to Grissom's office. Grissom's hand was grasping her arm, speaking softly to her. He cocked his head, and then noticed Grissom look at him. He quickly turned away. When Mandy walked by him, he looked at her questioningly. She, who was normally so open and carefree, couldn't meet his eyes. Had she sensed the change in him or was her demeanor linked to the scene he'd just witnessed outside of Grissom's office? What was going on? Why couldn't she meet his eyes?

* * *

Something had happened. She left the lab for one day and came back feeling as though a major change had occurred. Nick sat in the break room, not lost in thought, but looking focused, frighteningly so. Grissom was hiding out, not a big surprise, but when she did see him, he wouldn't meet her eyes. He would look down and mumble something incoherent about being busy or…something. She had run into Brass earlier, on her way into the building, and he walked by her, seemingly avoiding her, not meeting her eyes. And though she was sure it was her imagination, when she entered the lab and walked by prints, Mandy, avoided her eyes as well. Something had shifted and the shift made her uneasy.

In the break room, she stood beside Greg, staring at Nick and sizing him up. She looked over at Greg. "What's going on?" He shrugged. She continued to scrutinize Nick until she noticed Grissom in the doorway. Grissom came in, handed her all of the assignments and left without a word. She and Greg exchanged looks, both raising their eyebrows. She looked down at the assignments and cleared her throat. "Okay, guess I'm in charge tonight. Nick, Riley, domestic dispute. Greg, you and I have a db at McCarran. Nick, hang on a second. Greg, I'll meet you outside."

She waited for Greg and Riley to leave before turning to Nick. "Spill. What's going on?"

Nick shrugged. She placed her hands on her hips. "What's with the intense focus tonight? Not that I'm not glad to see it, but it's a little out of character." She noticed Nick open his mouth, but she continued on, "And what's with Grissom? Why did he look at you like that before he came into the room?"

"Like what?"

"Don't play stupid, Nicky. Guilty, he looked guilty, and he was looking at you. What is going on?"

"I don't know." Nick shrugged. "I saw him speaking to Mandy about something outside his office. They were speaking very quietly. He caught me watching. I don't know what they were talking about."

"That's all you know?" She knew she was interrogating him and she felt bad, but something was going on and she wanted to know what it was.

"That's all."

She shook her head. "Riley's waiting for you."

She followed him out the door and walked straight into Grissom's office. "What's going on?"

"I don't follow you, Catherine." He still wouldn't meet her eyes, his face directed at the desk in front of him.

"You're going to play dumb too? What's with handing me all of the assignments tonight? And I thought you were leaving, going to go see Sara. Why are you still here?"

"Something came up."

"Does this something have anything to do with a secret conversation with Mandy?"

Grissom's eyes shot up to hers. She narrowed her eyes and stared directly into his, reading them. Fear, Grissom's eyes were filled with fear. His head shot back down. "Catherine, didn't you assign yourself a case?"

He was hiding something and it pissed her off. She knew, however, he would never give it away. Reluctantly, she had to let it go…for now. "Yeah, fine, I'm gone." She stormed out, furious that he was hiding something from her, determined to get to the bottom of it. She reached Greg in the parking lot. He was waiting for her, his eyes inquiring. She shook her head. "Come on, we have a body to get to."

* * *

The blinds were drawn, the lights shut off. He immersed himself in the darkness, not allowing any light to filter into the office. He sat behind his desk, leaned back in his chair and stared forward, trying to quiet his inner turmoil. Ever since he had discovered the body was Daniel Pritchard's, he'd felt conflicted. He wanted his team behind the investigation, but felt he couldn't tell them, not without word getting out, or people becoming suspicious as to why five criminalists were working on a case but not releasing any information, to anybody. If he worked alone, people may raise their eyebrows, but he didn't think they'd question it too seriously. He was known for being odd. They'd chalk it up to his abnormality. He would use it to his advantage and work the case discreetly, well aware that if the case information got out, he'd be tipping off whomever was responsible. The news would come out soon enough, but for now, he had to go it alone. He needed time, time to investigate without evidence being compromised and time to process what it all meant for him and for the team.

He felt guilty. He wondered how the team would react to his nondisclosure. Would they feel deceived? He'd barely begun working on the case and already hadn't been able to meet any of their eyes, only Nick's, for the briefest of moments, and feeling the guilt wash over him as he did. He had to tell his team soon. He needed their help with the investigation. He needed not to carry the load alone. He just needed time.

There was a distinct, substantial part of him that quivered with excitement. Finding Daniel Pritchard's killer could lead to finding their mole and subsequently, finding the man ultimately responsible for Warrick's murder. They could find peace, possibly, finally, becoming at ease with themselves again. And he could escape. He could grab Sara and get away from Vegas and its artificial humanity.

Sara. He still hadn't properly dealt with Sara. He'd told her he wasn't able to come to her, asked her not to come to him, yet, not surprisingly, she hadn't accepted it. He'd received her voicemail saying that she was coming. How could he convince her not to come? What could he say to her to keep her in San Francisco without pushing her further away from him and without lying to her? The truth would send her on her first plane to him. He didn't want her anywhere near this. If the investigation went the way he hoped, it could get ugly. It may become dangerous. She'd seen far too much darkness in her life to have to deal with more and he couldn't let her walk into a dangerous situation because she was stubborn and he selfishly needed her around to ground him.

He was also aware that as he worked and immersed himself further and further into the case, he would probably become impossible to be around. He was traveling into the unknown, battling the unknown, and he wasn't sure how he'd react. He didn't want Sara to have to deal with him as he fought against the darkness, both inside and outside of his self. Just as she wanted to save him from watching her breakdown, he wanted to save her from what could be a self-implosion. He didn't want her anywhere near, especially not now, when she was finally letting her own demons lay to rest. He only hoped that when it was all over, they could find their way back to each other.


	12. Chapter 12

_Playing with fire is my game_

_- Nelson Mandela_

Chapter 12

"Have you seen this?"

Grissom looked up just as Brass tossed a folded newspaper onto his desk in front of him. He looked at the newspaper and cocked his head to the side.

"Page six."

He spread out the morning paper and flipped through until he came to page six. His eyes scanned the print until he saw what he presumed Brass had wanted him to see. There it was in black and white, a small blurb announcing the discovery of a body in the lake. He sighed and ran his fingers over the story. He'd hoped they could keep the discovery quiet for the time being, allowing him time to investigate without interference. Now, all he could hope for was for Ecklie and the Under Sheriff to decide the case was of little importance and not press for the release of the victim's identity.

Sitting silently, he felt Brass's eyes on him. He was grateful for Brass's uncharacteristic silence. He could feel the beginning of a headache overtaking his brain, hindering his ability to think. Finally he looked up. "It was bound to happen."

"Yeah, there really was no way that news of a group of school children finding a body in the lake wasn't going to get out, especially when said children spent their summer raising money for less fortunate children in another country. You're lucky it was only a small blurb. If it wasn't for the election, the announcement that the families of the victims killed or seriously injured in the nightclub collapse intended to sue the club owner, and the capture of Vegas's latest serial, this could be front page news, or at least page two."

Brass was right, Grissom mused. The chaotic week that had been weighing him down and tearing him apart had helped to distract the media from the newly discovered corpse. Had Pritchard been killed and found a week earlier, or a week later, the discovery of his body could have been in the spotlight. He didn't want to feel grateful for the timing, but he couldn't help but feel partially relieved. They'd deal with the story as it stood, knowing full well it could have been worse, garnered much more attention. Grissom, tired and feeling guilty over his relief, let all the air fall from his lungs. "After the week we've seen, I'm reluctant to say we were fortunate."

"I'm not. We got damn lucky the body was found when it was. You were clear of other cases and free to work this one without the Under Sheriff's interference, and the cases that the lab has seen this past week have overshadowed this one."

He closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward of the impending headache. His thoughts moved to the case. "Did you find out anything in Overton?"

"Yeah, a motel clerk remembered Pritchard. He arrived late last Wednesday, checked in under the name…" He opened his eyes as he heard Brass pause. Brass was flipping through a notepad. "Darrel Preston. Paid cash, stayed in his room. The clerk last saw Pritchard as he was leaving Saturday morning, didn't see him again despite the fact Pritchard had paid up to Monday. The clerk said when housekeeping went to clean the room Monday afternoon, Pritchard's stuff was still there. No id, just cloths and toiletries, nothing of value. Apparently they didn't think anything of it, thought maybe he skipped town in a hurry. They didn't want to get involved."

"Of course not." He shook his head. "Do they still have Pritchard's things?"

"Yeah. They put it back in the bag and threw it in the lost and found. I told the clerk that you'd come by and collect it. I also told him not to rent out that room tonight. You can process it, but I'm not sure what you'll find. Housekeeping has been through the room every morning since Monday."

"Evidence is time sensitive. If we can't get anything from the room, something in Pritchard's personal items may help. We'll head out right now." He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the arm of his sofa, checking to see that his keys were in the pocket. He moved to the door with Brass following him out and into the hall. As he was leaving, he remembered that he wanted to check with Bobby Dawson. He turned to Brass. "Meet me by the car. I'll only be a minute." Brass nodded and left him in the hall.

Ballistics came up empty. The gun was the murder weapon, but again, was not traced to anything. He sighed and made his way through the halls, running into the Under Sheriff. He continued walking by when the Under Sheriff's voice stopped him. "Grissom."

He turned to the Under Sheriff. "Can I help you with something?"

"Word around is that you're processing the body from Lake Mead."

He groaned inwardly before answering honestly. "I am."

"What do you know?"

Eyeing the Under Sheriff, he hesitated before answering. "Male db, died of a gun shot wound to the head," he finished, withholding the identity of the victim.

"That's all? That's all you can give me?" The Under Sheriff's voice rose as he spoke. "The body was found by a group of school children part of a global outreach program. I need to know what we're dealing with."

He raised his voice in response, unaware that people around were beginning to stare. "I don't know what we're dealing with." His answer was honest. He was dealing with the unknown and an uneasy feeling washed over him. He lowered his voice, trying to maintain control. "I have no information to release at this time."

The two men began a staring contest. Finally, the Under Sheriff broke. "Whenever someone has some answers, I need to know."

Grissom scoffed, believing the Under Sheriff's 'need to know' stemmed from the man's hope to spin the story to his advantage. He looked to find the Under Sheriff watching him with a cool countenance. He surmised that McKeen must have heard his scoff. He didn't care. He returned the glare. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to get to." He brushed past the Under Sheriff.

"You have work to do? I assumed you'd be handing the case off. I thought you were on holidays. Isn't that what you wanted, to go see your fiancé? Didn't you threaten me so that you could have this time off? I find it surprising that you're still here."

Spinning back around, Grissom fixed the Under Sheriff with a hard glare. "It was never a threat. I have decided that I'm not able to leave the lab at this time, not after the week we've seen. I'm not leaving my team to deal with it all. Besides," he added sarcastically, "it wouldn't be expedient and we all know your position on expediency."

He could see the rage radiating from the Under Sheriff. He'd touched a nerve. He was aware that the Under Sheriff's eyes were still on him, burning into him. He shook his head and walked past the Under Sheriff, ignoring the calls of his name that followed.

* * *

Greg stood frozen by the DNA lab door. He turned to Catherine and Wendy, wondering what they thought of the scene. Wendy stood wide-eyed, staring back at him, mirroring his expression. Catherine merely shook her head and returned to business, asking Wendy for the DNA results for their case. Greg waited until they were in the break room to speak. "What was that about?"

"That was Grissom being Grissom and antagonizing the Under Sheriff. He thinks he's safe from being fired, but he's not. If, or rather when McKeen gets elected Sheriff, Grissom is gone. I'd be willing to bet on that."

He couldn't believe what Catherine was saying. Grissom made the lab. Hell, Grissom was the lab. "They wouldn't let go of Grissom."

"Wouldn't they? McKeen would, in a heartbeat, if Grissom doesn't learn to play nice."

"But he's Grissom. His reputation, his expertise...the lab couldn't afford to lose him."

"McKeen knows what Grissom brings to the lab, but if Grissom won't work with him, don't think for a second that McKeen would hesitate to fire him. McKeen will let Grissom know who's boss anyway he can, even if he has to fire Grissom to do so."

"I can't believe it." He shook his head. There was no way…

"Everyone is expendable, Greg, even Grissom."

"So what are we going to do about it?" The conversation was leaving him agitated, worried. Grissom had always been there. Grissom was like an institution. Grissom should be running the lab, although Greg wasn't naïve enough to believe that would ever happen. If McKeen promoted Ecklie, he wouldn't choose Grissom to replace Ecklie. But still, fired? The lab without Grissom, well, he'd only seen it once before, and only for a short time. It was a rough time, more than rough. The ethics Grissom had instilled in them were thrown out the window by the people in charge, by the Under Sheriff, even by Catherine. After that month was up, Greg had decided he never wanted to see the lab without Grissom again.

He watched Catherine sigh as she shrugged. "What can we do? I've tried Greg, but Grissom won't listen. He doesn't care and we can't beat the sense into him. Look, I know McKeen is an ass and Grissom is probably right; he usually is, but he's got to learn to be more politic. Unfortunately, politic is something he adamantly refuses to be. Grissom won't compromise. You should know that, Greg."

He did know. Grissom would never compromise. Still, he refused to believe that McKeen would let go of Grissom. People wouldn't stand for it. There was no way people would stand for it. It would be a public relations nightmare for McKeen. Deep down though, he feared Catherine was right. Grissom was incorrigible. Grissom fought authority and came out unscathed. Grissom played maverick long enough and no one had ever really called him on it. It there was one person that would, Greg was sure that person was the Under Sheriff. The fear seeped into his gut. He didn't know what they'd all do without Grissom.

* * *

He flopped down on his couch, feeling so utterly exhausted that he began to shake. It was hard work, trying to suppress one's emotions. He'd never before realized how draining it was. He'd spent the past night processing the scene of the last domestic dispute Jason and Wendy Carlson would ever have. Their ten year old son had made sure of it, finding his father's gun and firing it with shaky aim, accidentally killing both his parents shortly after making a call to 911, reporting the disturbance. Nick had to interview the boy and listen as the boy cried, trying to explain to Nick that he only wanted to break up the fight and get his father off of his mother. And Nick, listening to the young boy, had to suppress his emotions. It was only when he got home and sat down on the couch that he allowed himself to feel, trembling as his body succumbed to the exhaustion.

His sleep was restless. He saw the boy. He saw Warrick. He saw Catherine's pity and Grissom's look of guilt and Mandy's avoidance of his eyes. It angered him. His sleep was angry and violent. He hit the pillow, struck out at the air, flung himself from the sofa, waking up on the floor, angry and confused and bursting with all the emotion he'd been trying to contain over the past thirty six hours. He was crying. He had to get a hold of himself. He was sure now, that his emotions were his enemy. They were overtaking him, invading his sleep.

He stood up and pulled a beer from his fridge. When he finished it, he pulled another, then another, pulling beer after beer after beer. Soon he was asleep again, passed out from an alcohol induced coma. In his sleep he did not dream; he did not feel. Laying half on his sofa, he was reduced to nothingness and boy was it peaceful.

* * *

They drove back to Vegas silently. The hotel room had left Grissom with no evidence to work with. He had expected to come up empty, but the reality was still disappointing. He did have Pritchard's personal items, yet he wasn't optimistic. The clerk had said the bag only contained cloths and toiletries, nothing that could lead them to Pritchard's killer.

Later, he arrived back at the lab to find day shift in full swing. None of his team was present. It offered him some relief, not having to hide from them the implications of the evidence he was about to process. The lab was fairly quiet and his relief grew. He took Pritchard's bag into the empty layout room and began to rummage through it.

The clerk had been right. The bag was filled with cloths and toiletries. He bagged each item separately, realizing that as trace and DNA processed the items, the circle of people involved in the investigation would grow. He decided to wait for nightshift to drop off the items, so that it would be Wendy Simms and David Hodges processing.

Taking one last look in the bag, he spotted something flat laying along the bottom. His gloves hands carefully pulled out the item. It was a newspaper, folded so that page three was visible. He opened the paper to check the cover and looked at the date. The newspaper was three weeks old. He frowned, wondering why Pritchard was carrying a paper that was two weeks old when it was in Pritchard's possession. He refolded the paper to the way he'd found it and scanned the page with his eyes. The headline jumped out at him. _Under Sheriff announces his intention to run for Office of Sheriff._

The air chilled around him as it all came together, the politics, a man trying to consolidate power, protect his power, a man with connections, why Daniel Pritchard chose to return now. The implications were frightening. He quickly logged in the evidence and rushed to his office, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down behind his desk and ran his hands through his hair. It was then that he realized he'd yet to speak with Sara about her insistence on coming to Vegas. She couldn't come, not now. He pulled out his phone and dialed, standing up and pacing as he waited for her to answer. When she did, all he thought to do was beg and plead her not to come back. He begged and begged, not offering a reason, only asking her to trust him. He pleaded with her until tears hit his eyes and he could no longer breathe. Finally she acquiesced and he felt could breathe again.

After ending the call, he paced his office. Opening the office door, he began to wander the halls until he saw him, the Under Sheriff. Grissom stopped dead in his tracks and he began to stare. When the Under Sheriff caught his eyes, he continued to stare, scrutinizing McKeen. The lab's occupants disappeared before him, until he could only see the Under Sheriff, and still he stared, his eyes narrowing every second he looked at the man. The Under Sheriff stared back and he could read the darkness in McKeen's eyes. He stood transfixed. It was minutes; it was an eternity. He never broke his stare.


	13. Chapter 13

_Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith_

_- The Rolling Stones_

Chapter 13

After being so careful, so meticulous, so sure that he'd covered every track, he refused to believe that he could actually be caught. He'd been so consumed by the election and his rising popularity amongst voters, he didn't even consider being discovered. Yet, he knew that Gil Grissom knew something, or at least suspected something. He wanted to laugh it off as pre-election paranoia, yet he was dealing with Grissom and when dealing with Grissom, those fears should never be catalogued as paranoia. He knew the look in Grissom's eyes as Grissom stared at him in the hall. It was a look of discovery and of pure hatred. With out a doubt, Grissom suspected something. He knew Grissom couldn't have found anything, not yet. Grissom was an arrogant prick and if Grissom actually had anything, he was sure he'd know. What he didn't know, was how many other people suspected him. Was it just Grissom, or did Grissom's merry, or rather not so merry, band of followers suspect him of anything as well? It became him mission to find out.

He spent the afternoon and evening in the lab, wandering the halls, picking up bits and pieces of conversation. He'd met eyes and no one had looked away. Nobody had stopped talking when he approached and they hadn't abruptly changed their subjects of conversation. They weren't exactly at ease with him, but they weren't anymore fearful or uncomfortable than they usually were in his presence. It was a good sign.

The night shift team was all in the break room. Well, all except Grissom. He poked his head in. They looked up at him expectantly, but not suspiciously. He smiled as he confirmed that they didn't know or suspect anything. Grissom hadn't yet shared with them, his beloved team, another good sign. However, they were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to say something and he couldn't just walk out. He stepped into the doorway. "Have you seen Grissom?" They shook their heads in response, looking unconcerned, as though they didn't expect to see their boss and weren't a bit curious as to why he was looking for Grissom. Things were looking up; Grissom's team was completely ignorant. He smiled again. "Tell Grissom, when you see him, I'd like to speak with him." They nodded and returned to their conversations. He bit back a laugh as he stepped back out of the room and into the hall. Grissom had left his team in the dark and would pay for it. The only thing left for him was figuring out just how he wanted to deal with Grissom.

He wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for the incompetence of some and the tenaciousness of others. Gedda had been stupid and arrogant, trying to prove his dominance over Brown by killing his own stripper and placing her in Brown's car. It was Gedda's alpha-male, old school attitude that led to his death. Brown couldn't let anything go, even after being suspended. If only Brown had just left it alone. And Pritchard? Pritchard wasn't satisfied with the payout he did receive. Instead, Pritchard had to find out about the election, return, threaten him and try to extort money from him. They all deserved to die, arrogant bastards. He was so close to consolidating all of his power and their greed and need for vengeance was threatening it all. Now, he was left with having to clean up their messes before he could be rid of all the damage they'd caused. Only one man stood in his way.

If it had been any other man, he was sure it would be easier. However, he was faced against Grissom, and dealing with Grissom had never been easy. To deal with Grissom, you had to know Grissom. He tried to catalogue everything he knew about Gil Grissom. Dr. Gil Grissom is known for his brilliance, thoroughness, and ability to read people well. While it made his situation more difficult, he couldn't argue with any of it. Gil Grissom is also known for his ethics, not willing to cross moral boundaries, well apart from the fact he was secretly banging his subordinate for over two years. Grissom is insubordinate. He knew he should just fire Grissom, but he had to wait until he was elected sheriff before he could do that. While all those characteristics did not bode well for handling Grissom, he knew that what Gil Grissom is, is really a jackass, high and mighty, seemingly untouchable, well except for the cracks he'd shown when his whore was kidnapped and his beloved Brown was killed. He could get to Grissom. Grissom was human, Grissom could crack, and even though Grissom lectured about ethics, Grissom had still crossed ethical boundaries. He decided he'd first try to buy Grissom, doubting that it would work, but still willing to give it a shot, none-the-less. If that failed, he'd find another way to deal with the night shift supervisor, because, he knew that while Dr. Gil Grissom was many things, he was above all, a very dangerous man.


	14. Chapter 14

_A man does what he must-in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures-and that is the basis of all human morality._

_- John F. Kennedy_

Chapter 14

He spent the afternoon in a haze. He needed to talk to someone, tell someone what he suspected, but whom? He couldn't tell anyone, not without any evidence. If he were a man prone to acting on gut, sure, but he wasn't. He was a firm believer in evidence, and without any, he, himself, wouldn't believe anything he had to say. He had no evidence, and yet it all made sense.

He found himself standing on the front steps of Assistant District Attorney Madeline Klein's house. He stood outside the door weighing doubts against hopes, feeling uncertain. He steeled himself, raising his hand to knock, pausing briefly, arm in mid air, before bringing his fist down onto the wood. Then, he waited. Moments later, though it felt much longer in his anxious mind, she answered. The shock on her face caused him to freeze in his position. He only relaxed after she stepped aside and allowed him entry.

Momentary relief followed, as she indicated for him to take a seat, apparently willing to humor him for the time and listen to what he came to say. He had clearly disrupted whatever plans she had for spending a quiet afternoon at home or a more exciting evening out, yet she stood, more patiently that he'd ever seen her, waiting for him to disclose the reason for his intrusion into her home. There was a reason he was trusting her with this, yet he couldn't seem to figure out what it was, or rather why she was the first person he chose to approach. She looked at him expectantly and he could only shrug. "I stopped by your office. They said you went home for the day."

"I thought I'd make it a long weekend. Aren't you supposed to be in California?"

"I was. I cancelled the trip. We found Daniel Pritchard's body."

Madeline Klein's eyes widened before him. She moved into the seat next to him. "When?"

"Yesterday morning. The call-out that interrupted our meeting."

"Would it be the dead body in Lake Mead? The body whose identity the lab has yet to release?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"Possibly." He paused, contemplating how to tell her without her throwing him out. He caught her expectant gaze and took a deep breath. "What do you know about Jeff McKeen?"

Maddie Klein's eyes widened, yet she remained patient with him. "Ah, Sheriff Burdick's heir apparent."

"Yeah."

"He's a political scumbag and a very powerful man."

"He's also the man we're looking for. I'm sure of it."

The Maddie Klein he'd always known came out after that statement. "Are you out of your mind? The Under Sheriff?"

"Yes. Maddie, I need your help."

"What have you got on him?"

"Nothing yet."

She stood up and began to pace in front of him. "You're completely nuts. You can't blindly accuse a man like the Under Sheriff of murder, conspiracy to commit murder, or any other felonies and expect to get away with it. He'll bury you."

"It's there. I know it's there. I just haven't found it yet. I need any information I can get on him so I can get the warrants I need."

"And what do you expect me to do?"

"Prosecute. Make sure a Grand Jury sees it."

"I'm torn between hoping you're right and praying you're wrong. If you're right, he'll kill you when he discovers you're investigating him, and if you're wrong, you'll jeopardize both our careers. He'll destroy the both of us. I don't know."

"Please Maddie. I'm asking you for one last favor. You've never backed away from a fight and you've always done what was right."

He looked at, his eyes pleading with her. He knew she was still shaken from the last moral crusade she'd embarked on, but he had no doubts she'd do the right thing, no matter the consequences. She turned on him and placed her hands on her hips, letting out a defeated sigh. "Christ Gil, you better be willing to pay for my rehab."

He smiled. "Look, if the evidence points in another direction, I promise I won't continue to pursue the Under Sheriff."

She nodded. "Good. Now, I need to stay in the loop. Who else do you have investigating?"

"Jim's the detective on the case."

"And who are the CSIs, besides yourself?"

"I haven't told any of my team yet. I was debating who to bring in. Catherine and Nick would be the most obvious, although I'm sure if Greg knew what we were investigating, I couldn't keep him away from the case either."

"I wouldn't bring any of them in if I were you."

"I trust my team, Maddie."

"I know Grissom, but this isn't about trust, or at least that wasn't what I was getting at. Look, you're the supervisor of your team, so it is your decision, but you do realize that if you include them, you'll be putting their careers in jeopardy as well?"

"I know. That's why I haven't included them yet. If I had some evidence, any evidence, it would be different."

"Still debating?"

He let out an ironic laugh. "Yeah."

"Well, let me know when you do decide to include someone else."

He stood up and was led to the door. She opened it for him. He paused in the doorway. "Thank you, Maddie."

"For what?" She spoke with practiced nonchalance and then she closed the door, halting his response. He smiled gratefully, though she wasn't able to see it, and made his way back to his car.

His next stop was PD. He walked through the halls arriving at Brass's office. The door was open and Brass sat leaning over his desk, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth. He knocked on the doorframe.

Brass waved him in and wiped at the crumbs resting on the corners of his mouth. "Gil, I didn't expect to see you here. I was just…" Brass waved at the sandwich in front of him, "eating dinner."

"I see that."

"What's up? Do you have a lead?"

"Yeah." Grissom closed the door behind him and sat across from Brass. "I may have a suspect."

"Who?"

He wondered briefly, if Brass's reaction would be any different than Madeline Klein's. Probably not. He spoke quickly and waited for Brass's response. He wasn't disappointed. "The Under Sheriff? You're crazy. Look I know you don't like the guy. He's a huge ass and I've always suspected him of being a little dirty, but murder?"

"He did it, Jim. I just can't prove it."

"You know he's going to be the next Sheriff. He's friends with the mayor. He's probably got half the city council in his pocket. He's got connections everywhere."

"That's why we have to get him, and that's why I'm not bringing in any of the others onto the case."

"I'm beginning to think I got it wrong. You're the giant ass."

"I can't protect the team if they are on the case, Jim. I don't have any evidence yet. It's bad enough I'm about to risk your career and Maddie Klein's career. I can't risk their careers as well. Besides, I don't know how they'll deal with it. Nick's been so angry, angrier than I've ever seen him."

"So you've noticed." Grissom looked at Brass and narrowed his eyes at Brass's insinuation. Brass continued, as though he wasn't in the least affected by Grissom's gaze. "If I were you I'd be more worried about where his anger will be directed when he finds out you hid this investigation from him."

"I'm willing to risk it, if it means protecting him the way I couldn't protect Warrick."

"Nick isn't Warrick!"

"No, but I could lose him the same way." He'd said it. He'd let out one of his greatest fears and instead of feeling lighter, he felt empty. He slumped down in his chair and rubbed at his temples.

"Listen Gil, I'm here for you, one hundred percent. I'm all in. I'll see this with you, through to the end, but you have to tell your team. They'll want to be in on this too. You can't protect them. You have to trust them."

"I do."

"Then let them in on the investigation. You can't carry this weight alone. They loved Warrick too."

He sighed, knowing Jim was right, hoping he could lead them all through this.

He made it back to the lab just in time for assignments. He stood in the doorway, watching his team. Nick was leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed. Catherine was perched on the edge of the sofa, handing Nick water and directing Greg and Riley to turn the volume down on the television. They obeyed immediately. Catherine's hand came to rest on Nick's forehead as she whispered words of comfort to Nick.

He looked down at the assignment slips in his hand, and sighed, realizing that with three cases, it was going to be a busy night. He'd have to tell them about Pritchard's body tomorrow. He'd spend the night searching for evidence in hopes of gathering something that would make his accusations seem plausible when he voiced them to his team. He sighed and entered, walking over to the sofa to a waiting Catherine. "Catherine, you have shift again tonight." She looked at him, surprised, though he felt she shouldn't be. It was her team now. He handed her the slips and without a word, walked back out of the room.

* * *

It was a huge mistake. He woke to the biggest hangover he'd had since college. Since when had drinking ever solved anything? So he blissfully didn't feel for hours. In the end, it wasn't worth it and he cursed himself for making such a massive mistake. He had to get it together. There were other ways to suppress his empathy, without drinking himself into oblivion. He'd decided to fight his empathy in order to become more professional. What he'd done that morning, drinking himself unconscious, on cheap beer, no less, was entirely unprofessional. He wanted to be the guy everyone could come to again. Drinking was not the way to go about doing it, as evidenced by the hangover. He was heeding the warning before it became too late.

After his bender, he only became more confused about who he was. He was lost, and the scary part of it all, was that he wasn't sure anyone could tell him who he was anymore. People were hiding things from him, Grissom, Brass...Mandy, all hiding their eyes from him. There was a deep rage burning within him. His natural compassion warred with this new rage. He felt as though he were two beings at war, shadow and light battling each other instead of coming together in harmony. The man he was, the man everybody trusted and confided in, was beyond his grasp and drifting further and further from his reach.

He walked through the halls of the lab, feeling as though all eyes were on him, as though everyone knew he'd crumbled that morning. He passed Ecklie, the Sheriff and the Under Sheriff in those halls, their proximity daunting. They seemed to be staring at him, mockingly? He hurried his pace to the break room and threw himself down on the sofa, closing his eyes.

He felt Catherine's presence before he saw her. She rested her hand on his forehead, and began rubbing his temples, soothing him. Then, she tensed slightly. His eyes shot open and he looked to find the Under Sheriff standing in the doorway, studying them. He didn't know why the Under Sheriff was looking at them that way, and he didn't care. He was so tired. He waited for the Under Sheriff to say his bit and leave. At the same time, he noticed Greg was also in the room. He closed his eyes again and whispered to Catherine, telling her of the enormous mistake he'd make that morning, thankful that she just listened without judgment.

It wasn't long afterwards that he'd heard Grissom's voice as Grissom handed off assignments to Catherine again. That did cause him to open his eyes and keep them open. What the hell was going on with Grissom? Nick stood up and angrily snatched his assignment slip from Catherine's hand. He shot her a look of apology. It wasn't her fault Grissom kept handing her shift. Grissom was hiding something from him. Did Grissom not trust him anymore? It hurt, being completely shut out by the man he looked up to. The old Nick would have confronted Grissom immediately. The new Nick didn't have the courage to do it yet, fearing he'd only betray his emotions.

* * *

It was a dangerous thing, the release of anger. He worried about what would happen if the evidence did lead to the Under Sheriff. Grissom was running a course towards self destruction and Brass was worried. In the past, Grissom's reputation had always protected him, and Brass knew that Grissom relied on that reputation. The Gil Grissom he knew, while always conducting himself ethically and professionally, also based his actions on self preservation, protecting himself from being known and being hurt. The Grissom Brass had witnessed earlier on in the evening, was acting on instinct, pure animalistic instinct, ignoring human rationality. The Grissom that seemed to be heading towards total self destruction scared Brass immensely.

Yet, the more he thought about it, the more basis he found behind Grissom's words. The Under Sheriff could have easily been behind everything. McKeen was very well connected, very powerful, and quite capable of pulling off these murders. He'd always suspected McKeen of being a little dirty and undoubtedly power hungry. McKeen liked being in control and didn't play nice with anyone who challenged his control. On top of that, McKeen seemed to like being in everyone's business, needing to know every single thing that was going on, being the architect behind it all. After all, what had he caught McKeen doing earlier in the afternoon, in the morgue, looking at his and Grissom's body from Lake Mead, if it wasn't putting his nose into everyone's business?

"Shit." He spoke the curse out loud without meaning to, and thankful he'd only spoken the word to his empty office. It was hard not to curse out loud upon the realization that McKeen had seen Daniel Pritchard's body. Brass had gone to the morgue to look for Grissom and found McKeen leaning over Pritchard's body. McKeen had dismissed it, stating that he came down to the morgue to speak with Doc Robbins and the drawer had been open. McKeen's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he snuck a quick peek. Brass had fallen for it, until he reran Grissom's accusations through his mind. If McKeen was behind everything, then McKeen now knew they found Pritchard's body and were investigating it. He had to speak with Grissom.

* * *

Livid would be the only word to describe how she felt. How could Grissom just abandon them at shift…again? He'd been disappearing so often lately, she felt as though she spent more time looking for him and questioning his whereabouts than she did speaking to him. She wondered if he even realized how his disappearances where affecting the team. Did he have any idea about what they were going through? Would he even understand? As much as it pained her, she was doubtful. The team was beginning to lose faith in their leader and she couldn't really blame them.

It was bad enough to have spent the night dumpster diving. The night only grew worse when she had to deal with the Under Sheriff hanging around the lab and looking over everyone's shoulders. She sent Nick home early after seeing that he wasn't in the shape to deal with anything. That move only caused her more grief as she was down another CSI and found herself having to listen to Hodges irritatingly prattle on for an hour when she dropped Nick's trace off for him. By the time end of shift rolled by, she was seething and not in the mood to put up with any more bullshit. She wanted to scream at Grissom, just give it to him, but of course, he was nowhere to be found. The only person she could find was the Under Sheriff, the one person she would love to avoid. The Under Sheriff was still sneaking around the lab like a mouse, or rather a rat, a filthy, unwelcome rat.

Nick was sure there was something going on. He'd told her as much. She was beginning to think that Nick was right. She hated being out of the loop and desperately wanted to find out what was going on. However, she didn't have time to deal with it. She now had a shift to supervise and cases to investigate. She wondered when Grissom was going to stop hiding and get back to doing his job. All night she stewed over Grissom's recent absences and distance. If he didn't want the job any longer, than fine, he could resign, but couldn't he at least have the decency to tell her? Apparently not. Apparently he wasn't going to tell her anything. Apparently he was just going to abandon her and the team, and everything she thought he was sure about in his life. Apparently he was willing to throw it all away. Yep, by the time shift was over, she was pissed and ready to give Grissom a piece of her mind.

* * *

In his dreams, there were no wicked intentions. There were no judgments. There was no malice. The location differed. Sometimes the location was high above the world, on the tip of a mountain, a place where he could look around at the vast space around him, peaks and valleys easing his soul. He was touching the sky. The air was lighter and he was weightless, light and free. On the top of that mountain, there was nothing weighing him down. Sometimes, he was standing in an open field or a meadow. The wide open spaces allowed him to breathe. And sometimes, when he laid upon the grass of his dreams and gazed up into the clear blue sky, he swore if he looked hard enough, he could see the heavens. And sometimes, the location was the sea, waves rolling gently upon each other as far as the eye could see, an endless blue he could get lost in. The location never mattered. What mattered was the atmosphere and in his dreams, the atmosphere was always one of peace.

Unlike reality. He lived in a city the polar opposite of his dreams. It was a city busy and alive, a city founded on the legitimization of sin, and some days, he felt as though the city was void of all humanity. There was no peace in Vegas. Even at its quietest moments, he could still hear the repetitive harmonies of the slot machines, the beat of the nightclubs and the echoes of the ghosts that founded the amoral city. Oh, how he wanted to reside in his dreams, to live in them forever, but the real world beckoned…was beckoning…continued to beckon, and would not leave him alone. There was a pounding on his door.

After the stare-down with the Under Sheriff the afternoon before, he was a little weary of flinging wide his door. He slowly made his way through the halls, Hank beside him, listening to the banging that wouldn't cease. When he reached the front door, he looked through the peephole. Catherine. He should have known. He opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter. She wasted no time in brushing by him and coming into his house. Her stance was aggressive; her face was full of fire. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the rant that was sure to come.

"What the hell is with you, Gil?"

"Catherine, nice to see you this morning. Thanks for waking me up."

"Cut the crap, Gil. I just got off shift, no thanks to you. What the hell is with you? Why do you keep handing off shift?"

"Catherine, I…"

"You're abandoning your team. They look to you for leadership."

He sighed, wishing it were true, but he couldn't ignore the evidence. The team had stopped looking to him and he had to accept that. He gently shook his head. "Not anymore. They look to you now."

"Gil, they want to look to you. You won't let them. They're waiting for your leadership. They need it."

Her tone was gentle, her voice, almost pleading and he knew that while the others had perhaps moved on, Catherine wasn't willing to let go. He smiled sadly. "I thought you'd given up on me."

"I almost did. You didn't make it easy."

His smile grew and he looked at his friend tenderly. "Look Catherine, I have to meet Brass in about an hour. Let's go to lunch after and I'll explain everything."

"You will?"

"I promise."

"Okay."

He showed her out and made his way into the shower. A half hour later, he was headed into the lab. He met Brass just outside his office. "Good morning."

"Morning. Let's get inside your office. I have something to tell you."

Grissom tilted his head, raising his eyebrows at the detective. He opened his office door and waited for Brass to enter, closing it behind him. "What is it?"

"McKeen knows the body from Lake Mead is Daniel Pritchard's. He was down in the morgue yesterday. I saw him looking over the body. It didn't register until later."

Grissom sighed. "Well, I guess we can release the name of the body now."

"You won't be able to keep your team out of it anymore."

"I know. I was planning on telling them anyways."

"Good." Both men were silent for a moment. "I have something else for you."

"What is it?"

"McKeen has property just south of Echo Bay. He has a cabin up there."

Grissom ran his hand across his mouth as he pondered how he could get a search warrant. They needed more. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Both men looked up as the door opened and revealed the Under Sheriff. "Grissom, I was hoping to speak to you privately."

He exchanged silent glances with Brass. Brass rose from his seat and left the office. McKeen took the chair Brass had vacated. Grissom watched the Under Sheriff take the seat across from him. "What can I do for you?"

"As you know, I've been keeping a close eye on my chances at being elected Sheriff. They are very good, excellent in fact. It's time for me to start making decisions about the people I surround myself with. It is no secret that Ecklie would like to move up and I don't see why I shouldn't promote him. He is ambitious and loyal. So, that leaves the question of the lab. Many people believe the obvious choice would be you. You are very intelligent, very good at your job, and you have an excellent reputation…" The Under Sheriff paused allowing Grissom to take in his words. Grissom's eyes widened and he had to bite back a smile at what he knew the Under Sheriff was trying to do. He looked at the Under Sheriff, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

"I do have some reservations though. A few things on your file trouble me, past indiscretions, and so forth. I think I can look past those, but what troubles me most is your inability to follow orders. You don't seem to understand your place in the pecking order. You are often insubordinate and you don't work well with people above you. The lab is yours for the taking Grissom. You've earned it, you deserve it, but if you want it, you'll have to learn your place around here. If you want the lab Grissom, you'll have to learn to work with me…and everyone else above you. We can't have a lab director who is working against us. We could do great things for this lab, Gil. Think about it."

The amusement morphed into irritation, then into fury. As unbelievable as the conversation was, it didn't surprise him, not coming from the Under Sheriff. He sat back in a chair, taking a moment to generate his thoughts and formulate the words. "Albert Einstein said, '_The value of a man should be seen in what he gives and not in what he is able to receive_.' I am a scientist and my greatest contribution stems from my ability to use science to solve crimes. This is where I belong and I'm not interested in moving elsewhere, even if it is up."

Grissom watched the Under Sheriff stand and walk to the door. The Under Sheriff clearly did not like his response. The Under Sheriff turned back to him. "Grissom, you could still move elsewhere. If you won't work with me, you won't work here at all."

"If you are elected and that is your choice, so be it."

"Far more people would be losing out if you refuse to change your attitude. I'll give you some time to think about it."

Grissom remained silent. The Under Sheriff turned sharply and left. Grissom closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.


	15. Chapter 15

_Since nothing we intend is ever faultless, and nothing we attempt ever without error, and nothing we achieve without some measure of finitude and fallibility we call humanness, we are saved by forgiveness._

_- David Augsnurger_

Chapter 15

Catherine waited in the small Italian restaurant, looking over the menu, wondering what was taking Grissom so long. She looked up at the waiter poured her a third glass of water. Holding it, she tapped her fingers on the glass, trying to be patient. It wasn't easy after the hellish night she'd had. She was tired, but not tired enough to consider leaving before she found out what was going on with Grissom. The waiter moved by her table, sending her a look of pity, as though he though she was meeting a date and getting stood up. Ha, what a laugh that was! Still, the pitying look unnerved her. She buried her face in the menu.

She felt the presence of a man sliding into the booth across from her. "Finally." She dropped her menu only to find Brass sitting across from her. She raised her eyebrows. "Jim, what are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Catherine."

"I was expecting Grissom."

"I know. He was held up. The Under Sheriff needed to speak with him. When I left him, he had just finished with the Under Sheriff and had one more thing to do. He sent me ahead."

"Really?" Curiosity got the better of her. She was waiting for the shoe to drop on Grissom and was slightly afraid it just had. Her voice dropped. "What did the Under Sheriff speak to him about?"

"Apparently the Under Sheriff offered Grissom the lab, when he gets elected Sheriff that is."

"What?" She nearly spit out her water. There was no way in hell the Under Sheriff had offered Grissom the lab. The two men were oil and water and Grissom had been anything but cooperative with the Under Sheriff recently. She figured Brass must be joking. He had to be. "Pull your own legs Jim; mine are long enough."

"I'm not pulling your leg Catherine, I assure you."

"You have to be. Grissom is a giant thorn in the Under Sheriff's side. The Under Sheriff offering Grissom the lab is completely beyond the realm of possibility."

"And yet, he did."

"Why? There has to be a reason. Publicity from the serial murder case?"

"I'll let Grissom tell you. You're going to want to hear it."

"It's not even possible. This is like the twilight zone. I need a real drink." She flagged the waiter down. He returned to the table, visibly relieved at the arrival of another person. Catherine ordered scotches for both her and Brass. She was silent until the drinks arrived. "You know," she swallowed a mouthful of scotch, "I keep waiting for Grissom to be fired. The way he's been battling the Under Sheriff, I didn't think there was any way he'd ever be considered for lab director. It's the job for someone in politically in tune, or a kiss ass." She ignored Brass's amused glance and took another drink of scotch. "At least we know Grissom's job is safe."

"Ah, but it's not."

"You're not making any sense."

"You'll have to wait for Grissom."

"Well, where the hell is he?" No sooner had the words left her mouth, the man in question made his way to their table. Grissom sat next to her. "Finally."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. Brass laughed. "She said that when I arrived too." Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Okay Grissom, you're here. Start talking. I want to know why the Under Sheriff offered you the lab."

She waited for Grissom to speak, but Grissom was too busy glaring at Brass. Brass shrugged. Catherine elbowed Grissom. "Forget about him telling me. We all know he has a big mouth. Now, tell me why the hell the Under Sheriff would offer you the lab."

"He's..."

The arrival of the waiter interrupted Grissom. Catherine noticed the waiter's expression had changed again. He was now looking both perplexed and amused. She ordered herself another drink, which she was sure she'd need soon and waited for Grissom to order his before waving away the waiter. She was getting impatient. "He's what?"

"Trying to buy me off."

She choked on her drink and slammed down the glass. "What? Not following. Why would the Under Sheriff be trying to buy you off?"

"We found Daniel Pritchard's body."

Her eyes widened. She finished off her drink, thankful that she had another on the way. "Daniel Pritchard is dead?"

"Murdered. He was dumped in Lake Mead."

"Your unidentified body."

"Yeah."

"And the Under Sheriff?"

"May be behind it."

She drummed her fingers on the table, taking in the information. Then she got angry and turned so her entire form was facing him. "You're telling me this now? How long have you known? This is what you were hiding? How could you? You ass. You're a complete ass. I can't believe you didn't tell me right away. How do you know the Under Sheriff is behind it? How does he know that you believe he's behind it? What are you leaving out? I'm warning you, you better tell me everything." She was out of breath and raging mad.

"Cath, slow down. I will."

She stared at him. "Well?"

"Thursday morning, Daniel Pritchard's was found by a group of school kids taking a diving lesson on Lake Mead." She looked across at Brass as he began relating the story.

"Yeah, I saw it on the news. The kids were raising money for a village in Costa Rica."

"Yes. By Thursday evening, Grissom confirmed that the body found was Daniel Pritchard's. He'd been dead five days."

"Why was Pritchard in town? He had to know the entire state has been looking for him."

"We think he got greedy. He saw that the Under Sheriff was running for election, and decided to come back and blackmail the Under Sheriff."

"You think?"

"It's speculation at this point."

"Speculation?" She turned back to Grissom and narrowed her eyes. "Since when do you speculate?"

"We don't really have any hard evidence at this point."

"You don't? What the hell, Gil? What do you have?"

"A paper opened to the announcement of McKeen's intentions to run for Sheriff, found in Daniel Pritchard's possessions."

"A paper? That's all?"

"At this point."

She was speechless. Grissom had just told her that he had formulated a theory without any evidence to back it up, he, who was always lecturing about going slow and waiting for the evidence. God, the man was infuriating. She wanted to throttle him. Instead, she just stared.

"Catherine, it all makes sense." She had forgotten about Brass. She looked across the table at him, hands braced on the edge. "McKeen's running for Sheriff and Daniel Pritchard shows up and is murdered. It can't be mere coincidence."

"Granted."

"McKeen also has a cabin just south of Echo Bay. Pritchard's body was dumped about half way between Echo Bay and Overton Beach. It wouldn't have taken much for him to drive his boat north and dump the body."

The waiter arrived with her second drink. She slammed it back, leaving Grissom, Brass and the waiter stunned. She glared at them and circled her finger in the air, ordering another.

"Cath, take it easy."

"Don't Grissom, don't you dare tell me to take it easy. You're sitting there telling me to take it easy when you're telling me that you believe the Under Sheriff is responsible for Daniel Pritchard's murder, and consequently, for Warrick's murder? How long have you suspected this?"

"Cath…"

"How long Grissom?"

"Since yesterday morning." She slapped him. Immediately afterwards, she felt guilty. He was rubbing his cheek with his hand. She looked at him, horrified. "Christ, Gil, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't."

"Gil…"

"Don't Catherine."

"You should have told me…immediately."

"I know."

"I'd think you were crazy if the Under Sheriff hadn't just tried to buy you off. Your little scenario is the only way his offering the lab to you makes sense at all."

"He obviously doesn't know Grissom, does he Cath?"

"He knows me. He knew it wouldn't work. I think it was more of a warning. He knows we don't have anything on him. He's trying to warn me off before I do find something or get others involved."

"Well, too late, now he has three of us to deal with."

"Four. I've informed Madeline Klein of my suspicions."

The words stung. He went to an outsider before talking to her. "You told Maddie Klein before me? Unbelievable. What is it with you and her?"

"Catherine."

"Never mind. Forget it. Let's order and talk about what you know over lunch. I've been here an hour and haven't ordered yet. I'm sure they'd like to kick me out." She picked up her menu and began to peruse the food selections, watching as Grissom and Brass did the same. She read the same menu items over and over. Her appetite had diminished over the course of the conversation. She was hurt and she was furious, but she had to put that aside and focus on how they were going to get the Under Sheriff.

* * *

Talking to Catherine had been easier than he had expected it to be. She'd reacted in every way he imagined, but managed to put all her anger aside and listen. In the end, it had been a relief to tell her. Concerned about the amount of alcohol she'd consumed during their conversation, he took her home and promised to pick her up before shift. Until then, he decided to fill the time searching for every piece of information he could get on the Under Sheriff.

He was hunched over the computer in his office when he felt the presence of another person. He looked up to see Ecklie standing in the doorway. "Conrad."

"Gil, I heard you've identified your corpse from Lake Mead. Daniel Pritchard? You should have informed me."

"We wanted to keep the identity under wraps for now."

"You know you can't investigate this case. You'll have to hand it off."

"Conrad, I want it. We aren't investigating Warrick's murder; we're investigating Daniel Pritchard's." As he spoke, he implored Ecklie with his eyes.

"Grissom, you hid the identity of Pritchard's body. I can understand why you did it, but you should have told me. I can't let you stay on this case."

"Conrad, I need to do this. The team needs to do this."

Ecklie sighed. Grissom knew he had won. "Okay."

"Thank you."

"Forget it. Just solve the damn thing and don't screw it up."

He nodded. Ecklie turned and left the room, leaving Grissom to return to his computer.

He searched for hours, looking through old articles and newspaper archives. In those hours, he'd managed to chronicle the Under Sheriff's rise to power and get a list of the McKeen's important contacts, or at least the important ones known to the public. Grissom knew he had to dig deeper, yet after hours of staring at the computer screen, his head was throbbing and his vision was beginning to blur. He was beginning to feel nauseated. Rubbing at his temples while trying to focus on the screen, he was extremely grateful when Brass interrupted. He closed the laptop and looked across at Brass.

"You look like hell."

Grissom ignored the comment. He could guess at how he looked: pale, eyes unfocused, hair mussed up, and face, possibly a little green. He leaned back in his chair. "How was your trip to Echo Bay?"

"Informative. Turns out the locals all saw the Under Sheriff there last weekend. They said he usually comes up on weekends, but they hadn't seen him up there since he began campaigning. They were surprised to see him last weekend."

"Did they see him with anyone?"

"No. Apparently he went up alone this time around, another surprise to the locals. They're used to seeing him with some person or another."

"Did they give you any idea about what he was doing up there?"

"No. They didn't see much of him. He was laying pretty low. A couple of the locals do remember him buying gas for his boat."

"Are they sure it was for a boat?"

"Lower octane, put into a gas can, yeah they were sure."

"The locals didn't see McKeen with anyone. Where do you think he met Pritchard? McKeen wouldn't meet Pritchard at his cabin."

"The clerk at the motel Pritchard was staying at saw him leave alone Saturday morning. He never saw anybody with Pritchard. McKeen was never at the motel."

"So where did they meet? And how did Pritchard get there? Let's assume, for the moment, that McKeen took his boat to meet Pritchard. How did Pritchard get to their meeting place or to the motel for that matter? He had to be driving something."

"I'll look into it."

Grissom nodded. "We'll need to search McKeen's boat. He had to have used it to dump the body. He may even have punctured the body in the boat."

"You'll never get a warrant with what you've got."

He sighed. "I know. Listen, when you go up to Overton to ask about a vehicle for Pritchard, take Nick with you. See if you can't also come up with a meeting location. Ask locals about back roads in the area, take a boat out and scan the coast line."

"You want me to take Nicky?"

"Yeah."

"And I suppose you want me to fill him in as well."

He gave Brass an odd look. "Yeah."

"Gil, you really should be the one to do it. Nick will be really upset if you don't."

"Nick's a grown man. He'll understand."

"No, I'm not sure that he will. You need to do it. Look, when you went off to New England a year and a half ago, Catherine, Keppler and I tried this reverse forensics stunt. We lied to the team. Nick figured it out and he was hurt. You need to be the one to tell him."

"I don't have time. You guys need to head up there right away." He sat across from Brass, noticing that Brass wouldn't budge. "Alright, I'll try to explain it over the phone while you drive over there and pick him up."

Brass smiled and picked up Grissom's phone from the desk, handing it to him. Grissom took the phone and held it in his hand, staring down at it. He looked up at Brass and nodded towards the door, indicating that he wanted to be alone. He waited until after Brass had closed the door before he opened the phone. He let out a deep sigh as he scrolled through his contacts and found Nick's name. Now came the hard part, explaining to Nick that they were investigating Pritchard's murder, and that he'd known the identity of the body for two days now.

* * *

He was surprised his phone wasn't broken. He'd hurled it across his kitchen with all the power he could muster, and in his fury, he'd been able to summon a lot of power. The phone smashed against the wall. The screen ended up a little funny, but the phone still worked. Determined to break something, he slammed his fist on the doorframe. His hand stung for a moment, but didn't break this time. He supposed he was lucky.

The phone call with Grissom incensed him. Two days. Grissom had known about Pritchard for two days and had not said anything. In fact, Grissom had hid it from him. He knew that Grissom had been hiding something. He felt it every time he looked at Grissom, and Brass, and Mandy. Mandy, of course, she probably identified the body. No wonder she wouldn't look at him. He'd been feeling like an outcast. Now, he just felt like an idiot. A very angry idiot. First Grissom hides the case from him, then Grissom tells him about it over the phone, finally, before he even gets the chance to see his supervisor and process the information, Grissom sends him off with Brass.

He wouldn't speak a word in the car. He just stared out the window, ignoring Brass and hoping Brass would return the favor. He wasn't that lucky. At first, Brass tried making small talk. Then, Brass tried making excuses. He continued to ignore Brass until something Brass said caught his attention. He spun in his seat. "What? Repeat that."

"I said, 'do you know who we're looking at for this?'"

"Who?"

"The Under Sheriff."

"What? No." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Yes. That's one of the reasons Grissom didn't tell you. He was trying to protect you."

Nick stared straight ahead. "Protect me? Bullshit. Protect me from what? If we all put our heads together we could get the Under Sheriff."

"Grissom doesn't have any evidence. If this all goes down and he fails, he doesn't want to bring you all down too."

"It isn't his choice. We're a team."

"That's why he called you in. He needs you."

"Why now? Why not two days ago?"

"Now the Under Sheriff knows we found Pritchard's body. Since he found out, we released Pritchard's identity." Brass shrugged. "No need to keep it a secret anymore."

"Grissom should have told us. We would have kept it a secret. We could have worked out of his apartment."

"He was doing what he though was best for you."

"Since when is his isolating himself and going off alone ever best for us?"

"I don't know Nicky."

The car grew silent. Nick watched as Brass reached forward and turned up the volume on the radio. Brass's words had done little to dispel the betrayal he felt. He turned and stared back out the window, angry, upset, a whole myriad of emotions. He closed his eyes and began counting, attempting to bury his anger before they reached Overton. He had to focus, suppress his emotions. The case was too important. He had to remain professional for his team, for Warrick.


	16. Chapter 16

_If I had known what it would be like to have it all - I might have been willing to settle for less._

_- __Lily Tomlin_

Chapter 16

Laying on the bed, arms folded beneath his head, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the hum of the air conditioner beside him. He found peace in the quiet of the unfamiliar hotel room. Outside, he could hear the distant sounds of cars driving by, but even those sounds were sporadic. Overton was quiet and for the first time in far too many nights, Nick could actually hear himself think.

He let the previous day's events wash over him, his anger, his fear, his strong, resolute will to finish it all as quickly and professionally as possible and finally, his painful and absolute sadness. All of the emotions he'd been attempting to bury were dredged up and it had been an utterly exhausting effort to bury them. The wounds, two months after Warrick's death, still felt so raw and so fresh. As determined as he was to close the case and bring Warrick justice, he was afraid he wouldn't have the strength. He also didn't know where he'd find it. Warrick had been his strength. Sara had been his strength. They were both gone, one forever. Grissom had been his strength, and though Grissom was still present in body and intellect, the rest of Grissom had disappeared. Only Catherine remained, but he'd gone to her so many times recently, he felt as though he was sapping all of her strength. He felt so alone. He wanted to hurt the man who'd done this to them. He wanted to kill the Under Sheriff.

Time seemed to pass slowly, each minute an eternity. He was restless. He needed to speak with someone. He needed not to feel alone. Opening his cell, he stared at the list of contacts. He scrolled down, finding Jessica's name. He paused on the name, finger hovering over the send button. Could he call her now, after ignoring her calls for days? He took a deep breath and pressed the send button, hoping she'd forgive him and listen while he spoke the words he needed to get out. He mouthed a silent thank you when she answered his call.

Hours later, after a brief sleep and more staring upon the ceiling, he heard a soft knocking. He rose from the bed and moved to the door. He opened the door. Brass stood on the other side. Brass handed him a cup of coffee. "Thanks."

"Ready to head out?"

"Give me fifteen."

Brass nodded and left him. He closed the door and began pulling on cloths. He fastened his watch and checked the time, five am. He opened the blinds to his room and had to shield his eyes from the light. Pulling on his jacket, he left the room and met up with Brass in the lobby.

They drove for a half hour before finding the road locals had given them directions to the evening before. Another forty five minutes and four back roads later, they found themselves in a small, circular clearing. Resting on the edge of the clearing, they saw the old taupe Chevy truck with New Mexico plates, matching the description of the vehicle Daniel Pritchard was seen driving.

Nick climbed out of Brass's car and rested against it, running his hand over his mouth. He looked back at Brass to find Brass looking at his cell phone. "There's no service. I'm going to have to go back to the main road and try again."

He nodded, opening the back door to Brass's car and grabbing his kit. He moved around the vehicle and around the clearing and began processing. He found a path and followed it down to the lake. He stood at the edge of the water and looked out. To his side, a dilapidated dock stretched out into the water. He squatted down to study the dock, finding that while it didn't look very secure, it could still serve to anchor a boat.

The sound of Brass's vehicle returning brought him to his feet. He moved carefully back up the path to the clearing. Brass was just getting out of the car when he reached the detective. "I found a path. It leads down to the water."

"Great. I spoke to Catherine. She's on her way out here. I gave her directions. She said she was just heading into Echo Bay, so I figure she'll be about forty five minutes, to an hour. There's also an officer coming from Overton Beach. When he gets here, I'm going to head back to Vegas. You should be able to head back with Catherine."

"Yeah, sure." He looked past Brass and glanced around the clearing.

"Nick, you're okay to do this?"

"Yeah." And he was. He had to do this. He picked up his kit and circled the edge of the clearing, searching for shoe treads, bullet casing, or any other evidence they'd need to bury the Under Sheriff. He had to be meticulous, scrutinizing. He had to take his time, let his eyes wander over every inch of the clearing and path, and then wander over each piece of land again. He'd circle the clearing a thousand times if it meant finding anything.

* * *

The phone call, the defeated voice, the pleading, all kept circling through her head. He'd all but made her promise not to return to Vegas, and how she wished she could respect his wishes just as he'd been respecting hers for all those months. She tried. She cancelled the first flight she booked and unpacked her bag. She tried everything she could think of to not think about it, about the reasons he might have had for not wanting her to return. She was fighting against the inevitable. She couldn't stop thinking about it, about him. Every thought she had, every fear that passed through her, every plea he'd sent out during their last phone call, all culminated into one clear truth: she needed to see him.

She didn't want to imagine about how angry he'd be when he discovered she'd denied his wishes. She couldn't think about the potential reasons he had for wanting her to stay where she was. She was afraid, and while the reasons would matter, did matter, she, without knowing those reasons, felt she had more reason to go. She couldn't let the unknown factors become another barrier between her and the love of her life. She needed him, if only to see him for a day, an hour, a second. She needed to see that he was alright, that they were alright, that everything would be alright. If he did ask her to leave, she was prepared to go.

The flight was rebooked. The bag was repacked. She didn't call him. She didn't want to hear him tell her to stay in San Francisco. She was afraid to hear him beg and plead with her not to come. She was afraid of promising him she'd remain when every ounce of her needed to go. So, she turned off her cell phone, not wanting to risk hearing from him. She grabbed her novel, her jacket and her bag, locked the door to her drafty apartment, and climbed into the backseat of the cab waiting to take her to the airport.

Fear and anticipation gripped her as she waited to board her plane. She began to have second thoughts about this impulsive trip to Vegas and she let those thoughts carry her away. Amidst the bustling activity of the airport, she sat alone, detached, viewing the action around her as though she were a member of some outside audience and not a player. And why? Why did she feel as though she was no longer part of the world around her? Was it the uncertainty of returning to a city that stifled her very breath? Was it the fear that she'd be chasing a dream of a man when the reality seemed to be withdrawing from her? Was it because she realized, as she looked around, that everybody seemed to be with somebody and she was somehow, ironically, the lone solitary traveler at this gate? Something spilled at her feet and she was brought back into the world. She looked down at a little girl picking up a cup and looking at her with wide green eyes. She sat back in her seat quickly and stiffened, ill at ease with the attention the young girl was giving her. The mother of the child apologized profusely, wiping up the spilled drink at her feet. She waved away the mother's concerns, secretly thankful that the child drew her back out into the land of the living.

As fate would have it, she was seated next to the mother and child on the plane. Watching the girl color and chat with her distracted Sara from thinking about Gil. Instead, she thought of the easy bonds mother and daughter shared and wondered if those bonds would remain strong between the two. She looked upon the child's innocence and mourned the innocence that had been shattered in her even before she'd reached the child's age. The little girl yawned. The mother brushed away a stray lock of curly golden hair from the girl's eyes and placed a light kiss on the girl's forehead. Sara watched, engrossed by the unconscious smile the girl sent her mother as she curled into her mother's arms and closed her eyes. The girl slept, amongst strangers, safe and secure in her mother's embrace. The little girl was home. It was watching the mother and daughter's silent interactions that eased her anxiety. She was going home, not to a city that suffocated her, but to a man that made her feel safe and secure and loved. He was everything and she was so close to seeing him, having him again. She couldn't wait to get off that plane.

Turning on her cell as she exited the airport, she walked to the row of cabs waiting along the curb. She took one of the cabs straight to the lab, not conscious of the fact that she hadn't been in the building since she left, that two months earlier she still hadn't been able set foot in the place that for years, she spent more time in than anywhere else. She asked the cab driver to wait in case he wasn't in and walked into the building. She stopped by reception and smiled as Judy's eyes grew wide. "Miss Sidle, wow, hello."

"Hello Judy."

"You're back."

She shrugged. "Is Grissom in, or is he at a crime scene?"

"Dr. Grissom left for PD. You just missed him. Do you want a visitor's pass? You can wait for him in his office."

"No, it's okay." She couldn't wait. She was too close to him and she knew her stomach couldn't handle any more waiting. "I'll head over to PD and see if I can catch him there." She smiled at Judy and turned back to the doors.

"It's nice to see you again Miss Sidle."

She turned around and noticed Judy's genuine smile. She returned it. "It's nice to see you again too, Judy."

Anticipation continued to build. She was thankful she'd asked the cab driver to wait. Climbing back into the cab, she directed the driver to the police department and gave him a generous tip once they'd arrived. She walked quickly through the building, noticing the stares as she passed. She came across many familiar faces, but couldn't find the face she was searching for. Head on a swivel, she seemed to be looking everywhere but in front of her and she ran straight into someone. "Excuse me, I'm sorry." She looked up at the man she ran into. "Under Sheriff McKeen."

"Sara Sidle, what an unexpected, though not unwelcome surprise. What are you doing here?" His eyebrows rose and he smiled as though it was indeed a pleasant surprise.

She studied the man, slightly uncomfortable with the way he was still looking at her. She was sure she was imagining the leering gaze. She shrugged it off and smiled. "I came to visit Grissom. Is he here?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Oh, well," she turned her face away from his eyes, "I guess I'll keep looking. If you see him, don't tell him I'm here. I want to surprise him. I'm sorry for bumping into you."

"It's no trouble. Actually, I'm glad to see you. There is something I'd like to discuss with you if you have a moment."

Sara cocked her head to the side. "Uh, okay, I guess so." She let him lead her to his office. He closed the door behind her as she took a seat on one of the chairs. She cocked her head again and waited for him to speak.

The Under Sheriff seemed to ignore her, sitting in his large chair behind the desk and clearing away at the clutter on top, making her wait and exerting his power and control over the situation. She silently laughed at his attempts at Alpha Male domination, though she didn't really feel it was funny. Normally that behavior sickened her, but the way he fumbled through his attempt made him look pathetic, and that was funny. He didn't notice her laughing. Instead, he leaned forward, entering into her space, eyes blazing. He'd exerted her power and it was no longer funny. He looked up unapologetically. "Sorry about that. There is so much going on with the election right now." He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand over his desk.

She let her breathing calm down before answering. He'd always been on a power trip. It shouldn't have surprised her to see him using his little tactics on her. She paused and smirked, pretending to be unaffected. "Grissom told me you were running for Sheriff."

"Did he? What else did he tell you?"

She furrowed her brow. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."

For a moment, the Under Sheriff looked a little relieved, or maybe it was surprised, perplexed? Then, he seemed to recover. "Then he hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"We all know not to count our chickens before they're hatched, but the outcome of the election is looking very favorable. Ecklie has expressed interest in changing positions, perhaps becoming more involved higher up. That leaves the lab without a director. I've offered the job to Grissom. It's always been in the cards, what with his reputation and service. I'm surprised he hasn't told you."

"Oh." She sat back and bit her lip. Was this why he didn't want her to come here? Was he thinking about McKeen's offer? Did he want to accept it, but didn't know how to tell her? After all, if Gil accepted the position, he'd effectively be choosing the job over her, knowing she couldn't return to Vegas permanently. It explained his withdrawal. He'd been offered the lab; he could run the lab, build it up into what it had the potential to be, and he didn't know how to tell her. Suddenly, she had trouble breathing. She noticed the Under Sheriff looking at her and she became increasingly uncomfortable. She needed to get out of there, but she needed more answers. "What, um, what did he say?"

"Nothing yet. I gave him time to consider it. I really had assumed he told you. I thought you would be the deciding factor in all of this."

She wished it were true but past experience had contradicted that idea. Gil was the lab, and he was about to get everything he'd ever worked for. She couldn't ask him to give that up, even if it meant she'd have to give up everything. "Grissom will make his own decision. I won't factor into it."

"I hope you're wrong."

_I hope so too,_ she thought, forcing a smile. She stared across the desk, fidgeting in her seat, trying to keep her tears at bay. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. "Excuse me." She stood up and turned around, pulling the phone from her jacket. She looked down at the call display and smiled. She opened the phone and barely got out a greeting before being cut off by the caller. She frowned and closed her phone. "Excuse me, Under Sheriff. I'm sure I'll see you again."

"I trust that you will."

She offered another half hearted smile before opening his office door and exiting the office.

* * *

He'd lost count at how many times he'd glanced at the phone that morning, hoping to see a missed call. She was usually up and about by this time, going for a morning walk, or relaxing into a chair and talking with him on the phone. Surely she'd call him today. She hadn't forgotten, had she? Perhaps she was upset or hurt by his insistence that she remain in San Francisco. He checked the caller id one more time. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing to prove she was acknowledging his existence. He became angry. Why couldn't she see he was keeping her away for a reason? How could she be so full of her own self-pity that she wouldn't call him that morning? But then, he knew deep down she wouldn't punish him for asking her not to come, and really, he hadn't given her a reason. Anger turned to defeat.

"Good morning birthday boy."

He looked up to see Jim standing in the doorway. "You're a riot."

"Ah, the birthday boy is a little grumpy. What happened? Did the birthday boy not get his birthday wish?"

He glared at Brass before unconsciously picking up the phone and looking at the display.

"She hasn't called."

"Not yet."

"Give her time. It's still early."

"Yeah." He placed the phone back down and sat back. "You guys found Pritchard's vehicle."

"Yeah. They're bringing it in. Nick and Catherine are processing the area around where the truck was found first. They should be back here by the time the truck is ready for processing. The area is accessible by boat. There is a nice little path down to the lake. Apart from Pritchard's treads and my treads, the road doesn't show any signs of recent activity by other vehicles. It's safe to assume whoever Pritchard met, took a boat out to meet him."

"How far is it from the dump site?"

"A couple of miles. The site is pretty remote as it is. Whoever dumped the body didn't have to travel far to dump it in a secluded location."

Grissom ran his hand over his mouth. "Nothing to lead up to the Under Sheriff though?"

"Not yet, but maybe it's time we had a little talk with him."

"I don't know. It's too soon. We have to wait until we have something."

"We'll be discreet. Maybe he'll unconsciously give us something."

He reluctantly agreed. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, lifting the phone from the desk and placing it into his jacket pocket. He walked to reception and stopped by the desk. "Judy, when Nick or Catherine come in, tell them I'm at PD."

He headed out and circled to the back of the lab where Brass was parked. He climbed into the passenger's seat. Brass turned on the engine. "I have to get gas on the way. Searching all of those back roads emptied my tank."

"Why didn't you get some on the way back into the city? What if you were called out?"

"I knew I'd be going to PD with you when I got back. Besides, I did it on purpose. I like to get your goat every once in awhile. It's amusing."

He sent Brass a half serious glare before shaking his head. "Go get your gas."

When Brass pulled into the gas station, he took out his phone and opened it, still hoping he'd just missed her call. Again, there were no missed calls. He sighed and placed his phone back in his jacket, waiting for Brass to finish with the gas.

People were giving him strange looks when they arrived at PD. He glanced around, wondering at the looks he was receiving.

"Bet you're happy Sidle's back."

"What?" He spun around and came face to face with officer Metcalf. "What did you say?"

"Sidle, I bet you're happy she's back."

"What are you talking about Metcalf?"

"I just saw Sidle, not five minutes ago. You didn't know she was back?"

"No. You're sure? Sara is here?"

"Yeah. She was heading down the hall with the Under Sheriff."

His stomach clenched. He felt as though Metcalf had punched him in the gut. What the hell was she doing here? And with the Under Sheriff? He sent Brass an alarmed glance.

"You're sure she was with the Under Sheriff?" He was grateful Brass asked the question. He couldn't find the words to speak.

"Yes. What is with you guys? They were heading towards his office."

He and Brass exchanged another glance. Brass's glance was full of worry. He was sure his own was full of terror. They turned simultaneously and rushed towards the Under Sheriff's office. As he strode through the halls, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial. She picked up and began to greet him. He cut her off. "Sara, don't speak. I know you're here. I know you're with the Under Sheriff. I'm on my way to his office. Don't say anything, just excuse yourself. I'll be right on the other side." He hung up the phone before she could respond. As soon as she stepped out of the Under Sheriff's office, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead and holding her against his chest.

She looked up at him, perplexed. Her tone was teasing. "Miss me?"

"So much, Sara." He pulled her tighter, breathing in her scent.

"Happy Birthday." Her voice was soft. He couldn't respond. He held her in his embrace, looking over his shoulder as he watched the Under Sheriff step out of the office. The Under Sheriff sent an amused glance towards them before focusing, quite obviously, on Sara.

Sara must have noticed his gaze was no longer on her. She turned her head around, her fists still gripping the sides of his jacket. Grissom watched the Under Sheriff's eyes on her. "Well Miss Sidle, it looks like Grissom will indeed be thinking about you before he makes any plans." Then the Under Sheriff leaned into him, whispering so that only he could hear. "Don't fuck with me during an election, Gil. Every man has his price. Make the right choice."

Grissom stiffened and pulled Sara in tighter, crushing her to his chest. His hand came behind her head, threading fingers through her hair. He turned his head and let Brass see the fear in his eyes. Brass's own eyes were full of trepidation. He returned his gaze to Sara. She hadn't voiced a word about his crushing embrace. He loosened his grip slightly and buried his face in her shoulder, relaxing only slightly when her arms came around his back.


	17. Chapter 17

_He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God._

_- __Aeschylus_

Chapter 17

He forgot about questioning the Under Sheriff. Instead, he lifted his head from Sara's shoulder and watched the Under Sheriff saunter down the hall, away from him. The Under Sheriff's stride was cocky, as though he wasn't worried about Grissom or Brass or anyone. Grissom felt powerless. All he could do was stare after the Under Sheriff and fight to keep his grip on Sara loose. He exchanged more glances with Brass, carrying on a silent conversation and acknowledging the terrifying situation. When the Under Sheriff turned the corner, his attention shifted to the woman in his arms. What was she doing there? She'd come at the worst possible time, ignoring his pleas and potentially placing herself in danger. The case already had him worried. Now, he had to fear for her safety. It was too much to deal with. He stepped back from her, gripping her by the shoulders, a little harder than he normally would, but he was so rigid and so frightened and so tense, he couldn't seem to loosen his fingers. His grip on her shoulder tightened with each passing second.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." He grew conscious of his grip, but still couldn't loosen his grasp. He looked at her and willed his hands to unclasp. They did, but only slightly, moving their grip down to her upper arms. "Sara, why are you here?"

"Surprise. I wanted to spend your birthday with you." She leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. He didn't respond, but found his body stiffening and his grasp tightening again.

"You shouldn't have come." He felt her stiffen along with him. Her eyes shot to his. He immediately regretted his words. She twisted out of his grip, her movement harsh in her attempt to dislodge her arm from his hand. Her body trembling, she squared off against him. He winced before pursing his lips and stepping towards her, reaching out for her hand, her arm, anything that could keep her close. She spun away from him, flailing her arm so that he couldn't grasp it, stepping back as he stepped forward. After a few steps, he had her up against a wall. She turned away from him. He stepped closer and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, turning her gently. He kept his hand rested on her shoulder and lifted her face to his. "I'm sorry. I just meant that I'm so busy that I won't be able to spend any time with you. We're swamped. It just isn't a good time."

"And when is ever a good time?"

He shook his head and glanced at Brass. Brass offered him a sympathetic glance. He sighed. "I don't know. Can we talk about this later? At home?"

"Yeah." He watched as she glanced around at the surroundings. "Yeah, you're right. We shouldn't talk about this here. Are you planning on heading out soon?"

"Not just yet. I have to take care of a few things at the lab first."

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you at your place."

"No!" His eyes grew wide as he realized his outburst. He took a moment to compose himself. "No. I'll take you home. Come with me to the lab? I won't be long and we can head home together."

She gazed at him, eyes narrowed. He tried to keep his features calm, not wanting her to see the fear. His breath caught in his chest as he waited for her to avert her gaze. "Okay." He let out the breath he was holding.

He let Sara take the front seat of Brass's car for the ride back to the lab. He sat behind her, watching her stare out the window, resting her elbow on the door and her mouth on her closed fist. She didn't speak to him and he couldn't find the words to speak to her. He wanted to reach forward and just feel her beneath his palm, but he remained still and silent the entire trip.

After Brass parked, he escorted Sara into the building. He led her to the break room and poured her a cup of coffee, handing it to her. "Here. I'll try to finish up as quickly as possible, and we can go." She took the cup from him and nodded.

Brass followed him to his office, shutting the door behind them. He slumped down into his seat and stared at Brass. "We never interviewed the Under Sheriff."

"Probably worked out for the best. The Under Sheriff knows you don't have anything on him yet, but he also knows you're looking. You start questioning him, and he'll start thinking you know more than you do. Normally, I'd say that was a good thing, but in this case…he's afraid of you Grissom. People become desperate when they're afraid."

He nodded. He didn't want to think about what could happen when everything began to unravel. Grissom knew the Under Sheriff would use any means necessary to protect his position and the illusion of power he created. The thought worried Grissom. The Under Sheriff was already suspicious, on high alert and fast approaching desperate. "We need the evidence to bury him now. You heard him in that hall."

"I heard him. I didn't hear what he said in your ear."

His voice grew soft. "It was a thinly veiled threat."

"What are you going to do about Sara?"

"I don't know." He couldn't think about the Under Sheriff's threats right then, or how Sara would be affected. The worries would only distract him. He tried to keep his focus on the case. He cleared his throat and looked at Brass. "I'm going to call Catherine and Nick to see if they found anything."

* * *

Nick continued to scour the scene until Catherine arrived. When her vehicle pulled up, he met her by the door and walked her around the clearing to where his evidence markers were placed. He handed her an evidence bag. "I found these two shell casings at the edge of the brush, near that path." He pointed towards the path and led her to his markers. He watched as she bent down to study the earth around the markers.

"Any evidence of blood was absorbed into the dirt over the past week. We can still take a soil sample though."

"I've taken one. I've been searching for shoe impressions, but haven't gotten a clear impression. The ground is so packed out here and the scene is over a week old, so our chances of finding a clear impression are next to impossible."

"Have you searched for evidence down that path?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I've been wandering around this clearing for the past forty five minutes, trying to make sure I haven't missed anything. I decided to wait for you before heading back down the path."

Catherine's camera flashed behind him as he led her down the path. "Drag marks. He must have dragged the body down to the water."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. The body lifted and pulled at the vegetation as it was dragged. Some of the plants have been uprooted."

"I'll take some samples. Maybe we can match the vegetation and soil to a pair of shoes since we can't find distinct shoe impressions."

"We'll need a warrant to get look at his shoes. We need to find something to get us a warrant."

"One step at a time, Nicky."

He looked back at Catherine and nodded. He was getting ahead of himself, but he couldn't help it. He wanted the Under Sheriff buried, six feet under. He shook his head and resumed his walk forward. "Do you really think the Under Sheriff dragged Pritchard's body down the path? I would think he'd get someone else to do it."

"I don't know. It seems like he's tying up loose ends. Getting someone else involved would only create more loose ends."

"But he wouldn't get so up close and personal, would he?"

"Maybe he doesn't trust anyone else to do the job properly. So far the people he's been involved with have let him down or turned on him. He could be worried someone else would screw it up or try to blackmail him for more money."

"So he's becoming paranoid?"

"I don't know. Maybe. God, I hope not. He's already dangerous. Paranoia would only make him more dangerous."

He considered Catherine's words. She was right. If the Under Sheriff grew paranoid that his power or control was threatened in anyway, he would become very dangerous. Nick thought about the savagery the Under Sheriff was capable of and readied himself for an impending face off. The new found rage that had been growing in him was beginning to burn inside him. He was more than ready to take on the Under Sheriff. He wasn't afraid. He'd take whatever the Under Sheriff sent at him as long as he got the Under Sheriff in the end. The Under Sheriff would not get out of this still standing, he swore it to himself.

* * *

Her own words frightened her. Nick's words frightened her. The Under Sheriff's actions, offering Grissom the lab, suggested that he either knew something or was becoming paranoid. She was worried about Grissom. So far, he was the target of the Under Sheriff's curiosity and paranoia. She hoped he wouldn't do anything to fan the flame, but knew, deep down, the hope was in vain. Grissom would do nothing if not antagonize the Under Sheriff. He'd go after the Under Sheriff with everything he had and in all likelihood, would get killed doing it. He already had a history of placing himself in very dangerous situations in order to get closer to a killer. She knew that this time would be no different. _Self destructive asshole._ She too, would do whatever it took to catch the Under Sheriff, but at least she'd have the sense to protect herself while doing it. She knew Grissom wouldn't even think about protecting himself. She made a vow to watch him whenever she could and carry her side arm at all times, just in case.

She followed Nick down the path, snapping photos until she came to the water. She saw the dilapidated dock, and moved towards it, studying it. "Nick, look at this wood. Some of the boards here look like they broke recently. Look at the color where the boards broke."

"It definitely looks as though the dock has been placed under some stress recently."

She examined the wood more closely. The wood along the dock was a very dark brown, cracked, and looking as though it had absorbed a lot of water over the years. The deck caved inward. She studied the recent fracture marks that ran along the center of the deck, where she guessed the body had been dragged. "Nick, I think I found blood. Hand me the luminol." She took the luminol from Nick's hand and sprayed it on the wood. "Positive for blood."

Nick nodded and handed her a swab and a tester. "Thanks." She took the items from him, swabbing the blood. "It's human." She handed him the swab. "Can you bag this?"

After handing off the swab, she stood and moved carefully up the path towards her truck. She opened the back hatch and pulled out a pair of hip waders, sliding into them and adding a pair of gum boots to the ensemble. She waddled back down the path, glancing at Nick who was studying the water front. She slipped into the water, her gum boots sinking into the murky bottom. She moved slowly along side the dock, snapping photos of the rundown structure as she passed. The fractures continued along the center of the dock, the broken wood showing the same signs of blood staining. When the water came to about her waist, the pattern of the fissure changed, moving to the side of the dock. She stopped by the fractured boards. "I think this is where the boat was tied. The wood is broken along the side here. I don't see any stress further on. The body could have been rolled or dragged into the boat here."

"Any blood on the boards?"

"None visible. Most of the blood probably got washed away by the water hitting the side. The cracks might have sheltered some of the blood though. Hand me a pry bar. I'm going to pry this wood up and take it back to the lab."

She waded back towards the bank, handing Nick her camera and grabbing the pry bar from his hands. She moved back out into the water, until she was waist deep again. Her foot sank beneath her and she stumbled forward, finding the water coming to just under her armpits. She shivered and pulled herself back along side the broken wood, carefully prying up the boards. Holding the wood above her head, she moved cautiously towards the back and handed the wood to Nick. "Pritchard's body had multiple punctures in the abdomen. If the killer punctured the abdomen before dragging the body out to the boat, wouldn't we see evidence of it? The blood stains running along the center of the dock suggest that waves splashing up didn't have enough momentum to wash away all of the blood. The wood is old; there are nails and splinters sticking out, lots of protrusions to catch on. Pritchard would have lost some of his guts being dragged the way he was. There are no bugs, guts, or anything to indicate he was stabbed before he was dragged along this dock."

"So Pritchard's body was stabbed where, on the dock?"

"Would you begin stabbing a dead body you want to dispose of on a dock that's about to collapse? The killer wouldn't waste that time. He needed the body in the boat before the dock had time to collapse."

"So, what, you think Pritchard's body was stabbed in the boat?"

"Where else?"

"If that's the case, somebody has a very bloody boat. Even if he covered the boat in plastic, the plastic wouldn't catch all of the cast off."

Catherine nodded. She reached her hand out to Nick. He tugged on her hand and helped her up the incline. "Thanks."

He tipped his head. "McKeen is all about status. I'll bet he has a really nice boat he wouldn't want to get all mucked up. He wouldn't risk using it, would he?"

"Maybe he has an old boat, something small he uses for fishing and stuff like that."

"Yeah, alright, I'll buy that." Nick bundled up the wood and handed Catherine her camera. She pulled the strap over her head and picked up her kit. They made their way back up the path, hearing a vehicle approaching as they neared.

"It's probably the towing service." It was. They saw the tow truck's lights just as they reached the clearing. Catherine dropped her kit and moved towards the driver, giving him instructions as he hooked up Pritchard's truck. She moved back towards Nick, fumbling with her hip waders and cursing under her breath.

"What's the matter?"

"Damn zipper is stuck on these things."

"Here, let me help."

Catherine placed her hands on her hips as she watched Nick slide the zipper down. He took her hand in his and helped her out of the waders. She grabbed the waders from the ground and threw them into the back of her truck, following with her gum boots, her kit and their evidence. "We'll follow Pritchard's truck back to the lab. I'll log in the evidence and you can get started on processing the truck."

"Deal."

She opened the driver's side door and slipped into the seat. It was a slow ride, following the tow truck out the back roads. She was getting impatient, drumming her hands on the steering wheel and wanting to log in the evidence then go home and take a nap. She let out a grateful huff when they reached the highway. She pressed her foot on the gas, giving it a little pressure. At the same time, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her and causing her foot to slam down and accelerate. The truck propelled off the dirt road and onto the highway. Nick gripped the door handle. She turned to him and gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, my cell vibrated and it startled me." She pulled out the offending item and saw that she'd missed a call. She flipped open the phone and noticed she'd missed a call from Grissom. Looking over at Nick and noticing his glance move back and forth between her and the road, she shrugged. "Grissom. He called about an hour ago."

"Yeah, there's no service out there. Cath, can you watch the road?"

"I'm watching it."

"And checking your cell."

"Right, and now I'm going to dial Grissom's number. Hold the wheel."

"You're joking."

"You're right, I am. I'm just hitting the speed dial. I can do that and concentrate on the road at the same time."

"You drive. I'll call Grissom."

"Perfect. I get to drive and I don't have to listen to Grissom."

Nick scowled at her and held the phone to his ear. She chuckled and listened to his end of the call.

"Hey Grissom…it's Nick…Yeah, we're on our way back…Have we found anything? Yeah, we're taking it back to the lab…"

* * *

Brass sat back in his chair and watched as Grissom closed his cell phone. "Have they got anything?"

"They found shell casings on the ground, evidence of blood on the dock. They're on their way back now."

He nodded. Grissom sat across from him, slumped down in the chair, limbs dangling off of the chair's arms. Life sure had a way of kicking the shit out of a person. They'd all been taking a beating recently, but everything happening to Gil Grissom was beyond a beating. Gil Grissom was getting a shit kicking, and it didn't seem to be ending anytime soon. Certainly Sara's unexpected arrival, at the worst possible time, threw Grissom an even bigger curve ball than he could deal with. Brass wasn't quite sure how Grissom would handle it all.

Brass had been witness to an extraordinary, surreal, almost unfathomable scene earlier on, when Grissom had fully let his guard down, and acted in a way that Brass had never seen from the man, but in a way that still was so…so…so…Grissom. It seemed to fit, yet it didn't seem real. But then again, did anything seem real anymore?

He was a bystander, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He had watched the fear seep into Grissom's eyes when Metcalf informed them of Sara's presence and her company. He saw Grissom's desperation to get to her, then the relief when she stepped out of McKeen's office and into his arms. Brass had noticed the way McKeen looked at Sara, eyes lit with opportunity, and the way Grissom stared at McKeen, eyes blazing with hatred. Brass had watched as Grissom's expression turned from hatred to terror when the Under Sheriff leaned forward and whispered in Grissom's ear. He had witnessed Grissom grit his teeth and clench Sara in his arms, saw how Grissom's knuckles and fingers turned white as he dug those fingers into Sara's shoulder, then later, her biceps, saw the pained expression on Sara's face, the biting of her bottom lip and he had known that Grissom was completely unaware of the death grip he had on her. Grissom had been too terrified, to stiff, in too much of a daze to notice anything but the focus of his rage. The Under Sheriff sauntered away down the hall. Brass had been witness to it all.

The scene didn't end when McKeen exited the stage. More had unfolded, causing Brass to grimace in his spot. He had watched as Sara brought Grissom back to reality, then watched as Grissom, ever so eloquent, hurt her with harsh words, spoken out of fear, holding truths Sara couldn't understand. He had watched as Sara twisted from Grissom's grasp, half out of pain, half out of despair, shaking in the hall, working to relax her rapid breathing, moving away from Grissom and looking at him as though she didn't know this him, eyes full of anger and of fear. All the while, Grissom had been struggling to maintain control of both himself and the situation. Brass had felt like an odd sort of voyeur, rooted to his spot, unable to tear his eyes from Sara and Grissom. Yep, when life decides to really kick the shit out of you, it doesn't stop until you're lying in a heap. Grissom had been as close to lying in a heap as Brass had ever seen him.

Brass glanced across at Grissom's figure, slumped in the chair, and knew he was looking at, what was close to, a broken man. He placed his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up until he stood, looking down upon Grissom. "It'll be awhile before Catherine and Nick get back, and even longer to get the results from their evidence. Why don't you take Sara home and get a couple of hours of rest."

"I can't rest until McKeen is behind bars."

"You're just going to end up sitting around here and worrying. You can't keep Sara holed up in the lab. Take her home, reassure yourself that she's there with you and that she's safe, clear up that misunderstanding you had earlier and apologize. You really hurt her, you know?"

"Did I?"

"You know, I didn't think you'd noticed. You weren't in the frame of mind to notice anything except the Under Sheriff. Now, go home. Give yourself an hour or two. We'll get McKeen. Take care of Sara. You told her you wouldn't be long."

"She used to me saying that."

"Never-the-less…"

Grissom sighed and stood up. Brass smiled softly and held open the door, letting Grissom pass through first. "Happy Birthday, Gil."

Grissom forced a smile. "Yeah, right."

He patted Grissom's back. "Yeah, I know. Listen, I know you'll do whatever you can to keep Sara safe, but be gentle with her. Don't drive her further away from you." He waited for a reaction, but Grissom's features were stoic. He sighed. "And Grissom…be careful."


	18. Chapter 18

_Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?_

_- Bruce Springsteen_

Chapter 18

She'd wondered how it would feel to be back in the lab, the break room, all the places where she'd spent so much time in years past. The place would evoke so many memories, painful, happy, those best forgotten and those she wanted to hold forever. She'd wondered if the familiarity of the lab would help her to feel comfortable, or would she feel uncomfortable, awkward. It happened that the lab didn't cause her to feel anything. Her focus, as she sat, on what was once her favorite chair, in the break room, was not on the memories, or the multiplicity of stares she's been receiving all afternoon, or even on the magazine she'd picked up to read. No, her focus had been on him, solely on him.

The Under Sheriff's words from earlier that day played through her mind, again and again. Gil could have the lab. It had always been his lab, and now, someone in a position of authority was willing to acknowledge it. Everything he'd ever wanted was within his grasp. Would he take it? Would he sacrifice what they had for what had always been his? What was the look in his eyes earlier that day? Had he been torn between leaving with her and staying with the lab, a lab he would soon be running? She knew the running the lab was never one of his ambitions, but he loved the lab and under his leadership, the lab would thrive. He would have the opportunity to explore so much more, discover so much more, help the lab realize its full potential. Even Gil Grissom couldn't turn down that offer. He knew what the offer meant. Unfortunately, she too, was fully aware of what the offer meant, and everything it would entail.

Shaking her head, she tried to refocus on her magazine. The air seemed to change and she looked down at her arm to see goose bumps. She shivered. She could feel his presence behind her, could feel him lingering in the doorway, his eyes on her, watching her. She froze, her back to him, holding her magazine up in front of her. Her arms began to shake lightly. She wanted to throw down her magazine, leap from her chair and bury herself in his chest, his warm arms surrounding her. She couldn't move, couldn't turn to face him. Not having any clue about what she was would find once she turned around, she was afraid to find out. The memory of their reunion in the halls of PD was fresh in her mind. A barrage of different scenes flashed through her thoughts, the way he held her in a possessive embrace, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders and into her arms, how he verbally pushed her away while physically holder her so close, his grip so firm, the emotional pain barely outweighed the physical. The act had unintentionally forced back other memories, older ones she'd worked to suppress but allowed to surface so that she could move past them, memories of her father holding her in a grip similar to Gil's, shaking her, backhanding her, imprinting on her psyche long held scars.

Gil wasn't her father. She knew he wasn't conscious of his grip or the pain he was causing. He'd been lost in his own world and she hadn't been able to reach him. She imagined the battle being waged within his mind, needing to accept the Under Sheriff's offer but unable to let her go, holding onto her as if he believed that once he let go, he'd lose her. His possessive, uncharacteristic grip wasn't something she needed to fear. He was Gil, the man she loved, adored. He was sweet and gentle, his touch soft and tender. Whatever was in store for him, for her, for them, she'd face. She put down the magazine and stood, turning slowly.

His eyes were sad and wistful, tired, worried, desperate. Her heart broke for him. Something was happening within him, something unknown, profound, frightening. She could see it in his eyes and in the way his frame leaned in the doorway as though it couldn't stand on its own. She said nothing as she stared at him, feeling the eight feet between them stretch for miles.

She watched as his Adam's apple moved up and down, clearing his throat. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Yeah." She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

She forced a smile and moved towards him. She passed through the doorway, brushing by him, her breath catching as she passed. As they made their way down the hall, she could feel the ghost of his hand on her lower back.

People stared as they passed. The halls grew silent. The uncomfortable feeling she'd expected to feel earlier penetrated her body. Neither she nor Gil said anything as he continued to lead her to the door, his finger tips brushing gently upon her back, her eyes opening and closing involuntarily as she concentrated only on his touch.

He held the door for her when they reached his car. She slid quietly into the passenger seat, staring at him and his beautiful half smile. Her eyes followed him around the car. She waited until he was in the driver's seat before looking away. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't look at him again until he pulled up next to the curb in front of the apartment building.

She opened her door and stepped out slowly. Above her, she could see clouds quickly rolling in, indicating the downpour Vegas was about to receive. She looked over at him, seeing Gil's gaze upon her, noticing how lost and defeated he seemed when he looked at her. Oh how she wished something could wash away their collective pain and they could just start over.

She stayed on her side of the car, door still open. Her eyes were closed, yet she could sense him moving around the car towards her. His hand grasped hers. She smiled and closed her door allowing him to lead her towards the building. When the rain began to fall, first gently, then with more force, she stopped him, grasping his hand tightly. They stood for the briefest of moments, under the baptismal rain before she saw the confusion in his eyes and the soft shake of his head. Then, she found herself being gently pulled inside.

While they had only been in the rain for a brief moment, her cloths had still managed to get soaked. The drops of rain falling from her hair and running down her face mixed with her tears. He left her in the doorway and returned with a towel, sweat pants and a t-shirt. She watched as he tenderly peeled her wet cloths from her body and toweled her off, beginning with her hair and working his way down. He knelt down in front of her, slowly drying each of her legs. Her hands ran through his wet curls, gripping the strands of hair, and she shed more tears. He was being so attentive and so gentle and so sweet. She should have been comforted by his care, yet she was devastated. She lost her dream. He didn't really know her. He didn't understand that she needed the rain.

She let him finish drying her, crying on the outside while dying on the inside. When he was finished, he handed her the cloths. She pulled them on and moved wordlessly past him, past Hank, and into Gil's bedroom. She knew they needed to talk but she couldn't right then; she didn't trust herself. Instead, she climbed onto the bed and curled up, weeping herself to sleep.

* * *

He waited a moment before following her path. Confused by her actions, her earlier tears, he moved slowly towards the bedroom, opening the door a crack, and watching her from the hall. Her body was curled on top of the covers. He could see her form quivering, could hear her quiet sobs and his heart broke. The longer he stood, the more he felt a piece of him die. Sara was in pain, crying, and he couldn't help her. He found himself unable to move towards her, unable to climb onto the bed with her and take her in his arms. He couldn't comfort her. She remained trembling on the bed, weeping, curled up protectively. He couldn't watch her any longer.

The door remained cracked as he moved away from the bedroom and back down the hall. He exited the apartment and found himself in the entrance to the building, staring out at the rain. He hated the rain. It was so foreboding. How many crime scenes would have evidence compromised because of the rain? How many people faced the possibility of drowning in the desert because of the rain?

The pain in his heart was sharp. He stared out at the rain and fought against the memories of the first time he was faced with the real possibility of losing Sara. He'd almost lost her to rain. And why, after nearly drowning in the desert, did she like the rain, feel refreshed by it? Was it because the real threat to her in that whole ordeal had been dehydration? What did she feel when she stood out in the rain.

He moved from the doorway, out onto the sidewalk, letting the rain pummel down on him. All of his fears began to surface. Could he see his team through this? Would he find the evidence he needed against the Under Sheriff? Could he keep Sara safe while searching for that evidence? What would he lose over the course of this investigation? Was this foreboding rain, this rain that beat down at him and tortured him while he stood in the street, a sign of things to come?

The image of Sara, quivering on their bed, filtered into his mind. He was already losing her. He couldn't make her understand and he knew she felt as though he couldn't understand her. He knew what her tears were for. He closed his eyes, focusing on her image, heartbreakingly beautiful. God, he loved her. A few tears found their way into the corners of his tightly shut eyes. His legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed in the rain, alone.


	19. Chapter 19

_Thus nature has no love for solitude, and always leans, as it were, on some support; and the sweetest support is found in the most intimate friendship."  
__- Cicero_

Chapter 19

She woke with Gil's arms around her, his face pressing into the back of her shoulder. Moving carefully, she shuffled until her bottom arm was no longer pinned to the bed. Her hand reached behind and caressed his cheek, running softly through his beard. She heard his soft sigh and felt herself being pulled into his body. She closed her eyes again, taking comfort in his gentle hold on her body, on his need to have her as near to him as her need to be with him. Taking great care not to wake him, she rolled onto her back and gazed at the man sleeping beside her, his mouth now on her bare shoulder. She watched as his eyes flutter open and he looked at her. She smiled softly. "Hey,"

Gil rolled onto his side, looking down upon her. Still lying on her back, her wide eyes gazed up at him, studying his tired face. She reached up and caressed his beard again. He caught her hand and cleared his throat. "Hey," came his raspy reply.

He was staring down at her with such intensity, her stomach clenched and she became nervous. She pulled the large t-shirt she was wearing back up to cover her shoulder and watched his eyes follow the movement. Then, his fingers lightly skimmed over her biceps, lifting the sleeve of her t-shirt. She watched his fingers whisper their caresses over her arm and saw the beginnings of finger tip bruises made by his grip earlier that day. She watched as his fingers traced over purpling skin and he looked down at her sadly. "Sara, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head to stop him, but he wouldn't have it. "I hurt you. I wasn't aware I was doing it, but I hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"No, don't, please. I know," she pleaded. She paused, lifting her hand up and running it down his arm. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I know."

"I was afraid," he whispered, catching her by surprise. Her eyes widened. She had seen the fear in his eyes earlier on, but to hear him admit it? He had changed.

McKeen's words ran through her head and she was sure that Gil wanted to take the position but was afraid the choice would cost them their future together. She reached up and pulled down on him, kissing him before releasing him. "Gil, do you want to take up Under Sheriff McKeen's offer and run the lab?"

He shook his head with such vigor, she reasoned that he was trying to convince himself as well as her. Her hand combed through his hair and she noticed that it was slightly damp. She frowned but then forced a smile. "It's an amazing opportunity. You deserve it. If you want it, you should take it. I'll support whatever decision you make; you know that."

"I don't want it, Sara."

"But you've worked your whole life for it. This lab is everything to you."

"Sara, no." His voice was solemn but she still didn't believe him.

"Then why can't you get away from it? The lab has a hold on you; you can't break free of it."

"Sara," he sighed, "I have to go back to work."

"Now? You've only have a few hours of rest."

"We're in the middle of a very important case. I have to go back to the lab."

"Of course."

"What are you going to do?"

The fear in his eyes made her uneasy. He was afraid she'd take off again. She tried to lighten up the situation. "Well, I was going to take my fiancé out for a birthday dinner, but I guess that's out, so I don't know. I'll just hang out here I guess."

"Come to the lab."

"I can't."

"Please. The guys would love to see you. I can check up on things, get some work done and take a dinner break. You can hang out in my office, or in the break room. It wasn't so bad there earlier today, was it?"

"No," she choked out, not wanting to tell him how slowly the time had passed as she thought of him, or how she feared her thoughts would morph into other, darker nightmares.

"Then come."

She studied his face, seeing how earnestly he wanted her at the lab, though not understanding why he was so adamant about it. Still, if it would make him happy…if it gave them a little more time together … She sighed. "Alright."

* * *

One night off and he felt as though everything had changed. The lab seemed on edge. Entering the building, Judy informed him that Grissom was in his office and that Catherine and Nick were in and hadn't left the building all day. In the thirty-two hours Greg had been away from the lab, he'd missed something, something vital. He vowed he was never taking another night off again, no matter how hot his Saturday night date was. Then, he remembered how hot his date had been and quickly renounced his vow. He'd get caught up on the lab goings-on soon enough; opportunities like last night, well they only came so often.

His smile was wide as he made his way towards the break room. He stopped in the door and did a double take. His smile grew. Sara Sidle was in the break room. He beamed as he approached her from behind, noticing she didn't seem to realize he was behind her. His arm came around her waist and he scooped her up, twirling her in the air from behind. She let out a started screech. He put her down and watched her spin around, her hand raised to hit him. He blocked her hand and laughed as she tried to catch her breath. "Greg, you ass. You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry."

"Yeah right, you are."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Grissom for his birthday."

He narrowed his eyebrows, wondering if he should have known that it was Grissom's birthday, or if it had just been Grissom's birthday, or was about to be Grissom's birthday. "When is it?"

"Today."

"No, really?"

"Yeah."

"I had no idea."

"Yeah, well you know Grissom." Sara seemed wistful and a little sad and he wondered how she could be upset while visiting Grissom on his birthday. She sat down. He sat down next to her.

"Yeah." Greg shrugged. "Sara, what is it? What's wrong?"

"What's going on with Grissom?"

"What do you mean?"

"He seems so…I don't know, different."

"He's been under a lot of pressure."

"I know, but it's not that. It's something else. He seems so on edge, but maybe that's just because I'm here."

"You know, I don't think I'm the one for you to talk to about Grissom."

"No, I guess you're right." Sara paused a moment before looking over at him. "Did you hear anything about McKeen offering Grissom the lab if McKeen gets elected and promotes Ecklie?"

Greg's eyes widened. Catherine had told him she expected Grissom to get fired. Everything Catherine had told him made sense. How could Grissom be offered the lab? Damn it, he had missed something during his night off. He searched Sara's face and found she believed the offer. "No, I hadn't heard anything about that. Do you really think McKeen would offer Grissom the lab?"

"He did. The Under Sheriff told me himself."

"Is Grissom going to take it?"

"I don't know."

"If he does, where does that leave you?"

"I don't know."

"Well," Greg still couldn't believe McKeen was willing to give Grissom the lab if he got elected, but Sara seemed to, and while he knew she was happy for Grissom, and proud of Grissom, the news wasn't entirely welcome. He had to cheer her up. "Well, you'll always have me. I'll run away with you." Sara groaned. "No, think of it Sara, you, me, me, you. I'll bring out your wild side."

He smiled when Sara laughed. "I'm afraid you're a little too kinky for me, Greg."

"Some girls can handle it, some girls can't."

"Greg," Sara leaned into him, "you can't handle it." He blushed.

"Come with me to the locker room."

"Oh, no, Greg, so not going there."

He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I wanted to change shirts for work. I just thought you'd walk with me and keep me company."

"Not interested anymore?"

He blushed again at her teasing, and then grinned. "No, very interested, just not willing to deal with the wrath of Grissom."

"To the locker room?"

"To the locker room!"

* * *

He and Catherine had been processing for hours and found nothing in Pritchard's truck that could the Under Sheriff to Pritchard's murder. All the prints from the truck came back either to Pritchard, or unknown. Most of the blood from the boards of the dock also came back to Pritchard. There was a small concentration of unknown blood on the boards from the side of the dock, where he and Catherine had figured the boat was tied. The blood came back to an unknown male. Nick was sure it was the Under Sheriff's, but without a warrant for the Under Sheriff's DNA, there was no way he could match it.

After checking with all of the lab techs and getting all of the results, Nick quickly checked in with Grissom. Grissom's face fell as he went over all of the results, the prints, the blood, the shell casings. Feeling as defeated as Grissom looked, he left Grissom's office and headed for the locker room, thinking only of a hot shower and a quick meal he had planned with Jessica.

So exhausted he could barely stand, he moved his tired body towards the locker room, head fallen to his chest, not watching where he was going. He bumped into Greg on his way into the locker room, mumbling an apology as he passed. Once in the doorway, he lifted his head. "Sara," he breathed, staring at his friend in disbelief.

Sara was sitting on the bench. Her face turned up to his. "Nick." She stood and embraced him. He collapsed into her arms, feeling her support him. He held on tightly, burying his head in her shoulder, so thankful to see her, to have her around, and keep him grounded. It felt as though he had an anchor again and he didn't have to rely solely on Catherine.

He continued to hold onto her, trying to find some balance for his weary frame. Sara was rubbing comforting circles on his back and he fell deeper into her embrace, finding himself weeping as she soothed him. He lifted his face and smiled into her eyes, squeezing her to him. His eyes closed as he let waves of emotion drift from his body and fall from his shoulders. She continued to run her hands along his back, offering him her comfort. Grateful, he buried his face deeper into her neck and pulled her further into their intimate embrace.

Feeling Sara suddenly stiffen, he lifted his face to hers. "What is it?"

"We, uh, have an audience."

He looked towards the doorway and saw Jessica, eyes wide and mouth open. She turned and ran. He looked back to Sara and saw how their embrace could be misconstrued. He dropped his arms. "Shit."

"That's the girl? The waitress?"

"Yeah."

"Go get her. I'll explain it."

He gave Sara a grateful smile and ran after Jessica, catching up to her in the hall. "Jessica, wait."

"No Nick, we aren't going out. You don't have to explain. I just, I thought you'd tell me. I wasn't expecting it, that's all."

He looked at Jessica and realized how important she was to him. She was safe and comforting and she reminded him of life. Even if they were just going to always remain friends, he needed to explain. "That was Sara."

"You're friend that left."

"Yeah. She just showed up. I saw her in the locker room and was a little overwhelmed at seeing her."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

He grinned. Sara appeared next to him and smiled. "Jessica?"

"Sara."

"It's nice to meet you."

Nick watched the two shake hands. "Jess, I just have to shower, then I'll be ready."

"Great. I'll wait. Sara, do you want to come with us?"

Sara shook her head. "No thanks."

Nick turned to her. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm waiting to take Griss to dinner."

Nick looked at Sara, his face softening when he saw her expression. "Okay." He left the two women in the hall and headed back for the locker room. He grabbed his shampoo and towel and sent out a silent prayer of thanks that he'd have Jessica to talk to throughout the night, and that Sara was back. He hoped her presence would help Grissom, Catherine and him get through their ordeal.


	20. Chapter 20

_More than any other time in history, mankind faces a __crossroads__. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly._

_- Woody Allen_

Chapter 20

The repetitive reminder of time haunted him. He heard each second the passed, each tick of the clock, each reminder of how time continued to move forward when all he wanted was for it to move back. The sounds resounded loudly through the dark office, over and over, and while he tried to concentrate on his work, he couldn't deny that he wasn't getting anywhere. The constant noise grew louder in his mind as more time passed, drowning out all the other the sounds of the lab, and he could focus on nothing but the sound of time passing. He wasn't aware of the seconds, the minutes, the hours that had passed, but each second that ticked by, each second that the Under Sheriff was free, each second that evidence was not found and grew cold, each second that he had to deal with his shortcomings and inabilities, ate into his brain. Soon, he was only aware of two things, the seconds that passed by and his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest.

A soft, rhythmic knock sounded on the door, keeping in time with the beat of the clock and his pulse. The door creaked open and he looked up. Sara stood in the doorway, holding three styrofoam containers and two paper bags. She closed the door behind her and sat across from him, handing him a container and a paper bag. He glanced up at her, noticing her open her own container. He looked at her quizzically and she shrugged. "It's been hours, so I figured you couldn't get away for dinner. I thought I'd bring it to you."

He stared at her, his expression softening. "Thank You."

They ate in silence. Every so often he peeked up at her and sighed sadly. He felt the worried looks she kept sending him and he waited for her to say something, yet she remained silent, eating slowly and fidgeting in her seat. He watched her play with her hands, her thumbs twiddling on the desk between bites. He finished off his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin from the paper bag. He looked across at Sara. She was looking down, her thumbs still twiddling in front of her. Reaching across tentatively, he covered her hands with his. Her gaze lifted and their eyes met. "Sara, thank you. Dinner was excellent. I'm sorry we never went out."

"It's okay."

He smiled softly and gave her hands a squeeze. He stared into her eyes. "Thoughtful, Sara." It was a whisper, but when her eyes widened, he knew she'd heard. "Thank You again for dinner. It was just what I needed."

"There's more."

His brows furrowed until he remembered the third container. He watched her pull her hands away and grasp the container. She opened the container and pulled out a piece of cake. She reached into her hand into her bag and rummaged around. When her hand resurfaced, she held a candle and a book of matches. After the candle was in place and lit, she slid the cake across the desk towards him. "Happy Birthday," she whispered.

He looked at her with a mixture of awe and adoration. His low tone matched hers. "You shouldn't have." She shrugged. "Thank you."

"Make a wish."

Everything stopped. His chest hurt and he felt as though his heart had stopped beating. If he could only make a wish, one wish to correct the mistakes he'd made, one wish to find the evidence to put the Under Sheriff away, one wish to ensure the protection of his team and of Sara. If only he could make one wish that would solve everything. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could believe in the impossible and realizing he was about to spend his wish on a question of faith. Not that it mattered; it was merely a custom anyways.

He opened his eyes and glanced over at Sara, noticing the way she chewed on her lip at she watched him. He reached across and grasped her hand, pulling it towards him. He continued to gaze at her as she leaned forward, allowing him to pull her hand to the middle of the desk. He closed his eyes again, holding her hand in his, his thumb running over the back of her hand reveling in the softness of her skin. He still hadn't blown out his candle.

He took a moment to hold her hand and watch the flicker of the flame. He studied the flame, wanting to wish for the future and wanting to believe his wish would come true. He leaned forward and blew out the candle. Releasing her hand, he pushed the cake in between them and picked up her fork, handing it to her. Wordlessly, she took the fork from his hand and they shared the cake, eating slowly, trying to suspend time once again.

Their silently shared moment was broken by another knock, much harsher than Sara's had been, on the door. Grissom tore his gaze from Sara and looked at the intruder. Catherine stood in the doorway looking awestruck. "Sara."

Sara was up from her seat and hugging Catherine. After releasing Sara, Grissom watched as Catherine looked between him and the woman she'd been hugging. Catherine cleared her throat and shot one more glance at Sara before looking back at him. "Grissom, I need to speak with you. It's about the case."

His eyes darkened as they shot to Sara and back to Catherine. "Sara…"

"Yeah, I'll…maybe I'll head to your place. Wake me when you get off shift."

"The cake…" He was stalling.

"It's yours; you can finish it."

"I'll save it for later." He paused a moment and cleared away the lump forming in his throat. "You're heading to the apartment?"

"Yeah, I guess."

His heart beat rapidly in his chest. He wanted to stop her, but he knew he couldn't ask her to spend any more time in the lab and he couldn't tell her why he needed her to stay. He stared at Catherine, his eyes begging her for help. Catherine only shrugged and he knew there was nothing she could do either. He looked back at Sara, willing himself to calm down. "Okay, can you do me a favor? Pick up Hank from the sitters? Have him with you?"

"Okay."

"Great." He tried to hide his sigh of relief. He didn't have to work hard at it. Hank's presence with Sara only offered him minor relief. He was still out of his mind with fear. He found it hard to speak. "I'll, uh, see you later then."

"Yeah." Sara walked to the office door and paused in it. Her head turned towards him and she threw him a smile. He tried to force a smile, but couldn't. He looked down at his desk, unable to watch her walk away.

* * *

The quiet of the house was unbearable. In the quiet, without noise to distract her, all she found herself doing was thinking and remembering. She didn't want to think or to remember; she wanted to sleep. Tossing and turning for two hours, she finally decided it was useless and gave up. Rising from her bed, she made her way through the living room and into the kitchen, searching for company, somebody she could speak with to stop her from losing her mind. Where was Lindsay?

Seeing that the house was abandoned and knowing she wasn't going to get any sleep, Catherine decided to head back into the lab and find something to do. There had to be something in that evidence that would lead them somewhere, something she'd missed. On a mission, she ignored her exhaustion and logged out the evidence. She made her way to the layout room and she dumped the boxes of evidence on the middle of the table. She began to look it all over.

Something was bothering her. She fingered each piece of evidence over and over until her eyes landed on the keys that had been in the truck's ignition. Picking up the ring of keys, she studied each one carefully, truck keys, motel key, house keys, mail key, until she came across one that looked out of place.

She piled the evidence, minus the key ring, back into the boxes, and logged it back in. Keys in hand, she made her way through the halls until she reached Grissom's office. She knocked and, not waiting for a reply, entered.

The sight before her left her gob-smacked. Sara. Sara was in Grissom's office, hands entwined, sharing cake? Sara came back for Grissom's birthday? She stared between at the couple. "Sara."

Sara was up and hugging her. She hugged back, then released Sara and turned to Grissom, though her eyes kept wandering back to Sara. She had been stunned and it took a moment for her to remember why she'd come to Grissom's office in the first place. She cleared her throat. "Grissom, I need to speak with you. It's about the case."

She watched as Grissom reluctantly dismissed Sara, saw the fear in his eyes when Sara announced she was going to head home, or to his place, as she'd put it. Catherine knew Grissom was looking at her for help, to find a reason for Sara to stay in the lab, and why? She couldn't help and sadly watched the resignation in Grissom's eyes as he watched Sara leave.

When Sara was gone, Catherine sat down across from Grissom. "Sara's back?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"When did she…"

"Catherine, the case?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I was looking over the key chain from Pritchard's truck." She placed the ring of keys in front of Grissom and flipped through them until she found the key that had peeked her curiosity. "I found this one. What do you make of it?"

"A safety deposit box key?"

"I think so."

"Do you think Pritchard kept a paper trail?"

"If he was planning on blackmailing the Under Sheriff, then yes."

"So we need to find the box accompanying this key?"

"Yeah. I'll call Brass and have him come with me. I'm also going to take Greg. Is he in yet?"

Grissom nodded. "Check the break room."

Catherine stood up. "Happy Birthday, Gil." She picked up the ring of keys. She stared at it, hoping that the key she was holding was the key to the case. It could mean everything and it could mean nothing. She glanced down at Grissom and saw herself looking at a dying man, a man so beat down by pressure, so torn by fear that his eyes couldn't even show signs of hope. The terror struck her and she realized that Grissom felt no hope. Even if they finally solved this case, the man seated in front of her, stood to lose so much, and finding the answer was just as dangerous a prospect of not finding it. Her heart broke every second she looked at him. She turned away and sent out a silent prayer, asking that they find the answer before it cost them everything.

* * *

Hank's feet shuffled along the hardwood floor, breaking the silence permeating the apartment. Signs of life: one dog, nothing else. And, even Hank didn't display much life anymore. He gazed at her expectantly, his eyes begging her for a return to happiness, a return to life.

Once upon a time, the apartment had been a happy place, when it was just purchased and the new owners dreamed of building a life there together. Now it was his, lonely and abandoned, because she'd left it, because she left him, and there was no going back to the way it was before. The new atmosphere was melancholy. It pervaded every room. It reminded her of her choices.

The silence was disturbing. She moved around the apartment, hearing every creek, every tick of the clock, the sound of the air conditioner turning on and then later, off. She tried reading to stop herself from thinking and from feeling, but Gil's eyes haunted her. His fear, his sadness, signs of things to come? A chill ran up her spine and she tried not to think of Gil's evocative stares.

She felt as though he was reluctantly letting her go, trying to save her from the melancholy of his life when he was unable to escape it himself. She thought about his reverent touch, his tenderness, and his fear. Each moment lately seemed so poignant. What was happening? Where were they heading?

She moved onto his bed, curling up into a ball and found herself falling asleep, finding as much despair in her sleep as in her conscious state. Tossing and turning and trying to ward off the bad dreams, she awoke to the sound of Gil's home phone ringing. She groped in the darkness, searching, but not finding. Getting up, she padded around the house, finding the phone just as it stopped ringing. She put down the phone and leaned against the counter, running her hand through her hair.

She looked down at a sleeping dog, watching Hank's frame rise and fall. It was quiet again and she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She tried to shake away her imagination, but each sound she heard increased her discomfort. She needed Gil with her, to reassure her and tell her it would all be alright. Would it? Lately she'd been feeling as though it wouldn't, as though they wouldn't be able to get through whatever was happening, as though they were destined for something frightening and beyond their control, and what were those sounds?

Maybe she was being paranoid. After years of having so many bad things happen, she was bound to be a little paranoid, wasn't she? If it was paranoia then, why did she feel so much more real and why did she see it in rational Gil's eyes too? What had Gil's eyes been telling her? She felt so alone. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, clutching it as she sat in the dark, feeling their impending, inescapable fate.


	21. Chapter 21

_Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul._

_- Henry Van Dyke_

Chapter 21

He hated taking a break. While he rationalized that there was nothing more for him to process, he still felt guilty…and angry. How dare Catherine force him to take a break and eat something? It wasn't like she was going to stop. She was acting like Grissom, telling him to take a break when she had no intention of doing the same thing. She'd been going just as long as he had. He stewed over his menu, but realized that he didn't really have the energy to be mad, and Catherine was right; he needed to eat. It was just dinner, and it wasn't like he was going to allow himself the luxury of a nap afterwards, despite his fatigue. It was a quick meal, and he'd be back to work in no time.

The time was spent replaying images of the evidence. He ignored her stares and gazed off into space as piece by piece, snapshots wound through his thoughts. With each passing picture, each forced recollection, the images grew hazier. Unconsciously squinting, he repeatedly tried to regain his focus and bring clarity to his visions. He was far to tired for this, but he continued to force the images through his mind and ward off his impending collapse.

Her fingers played over his, causing him to look up from the table. Her worried features broke through his hazy gaze and he forced himself to smile. Watching her exhibit patience and understanding as she held onto his hand, he began to wonder where they were in terms of their relationship. He wondered why he couldn't just be and exist with her the way he could with the women before. Was he so broken now, that it was impossible to regain his former confidence with women? Would he only look to them for comfort…understanding? Would he ever be able to regain the man that he was? He was tired, so, so tired, and with his defenses down, her gaze sent his emotions spiraling. He squeezed his eyes shut, locking the door to his emotions. He'd already broken down once, the sight of Sara being so overwhelming. He had to get a handle on himself. He couldn't break down in front of Jessica too.

What kind of a man was he? Why was his heart so hell bent on crying out all of the time? Why couldn't he just lock that part of him away and focus on what was in front of him? He was having dinner with a very pretty girl. He'd been having dinners with her for months, without doing anything. The old Nick would have kissed her by now, the Nick he'd been before Warrick was killed and his life spiraled beyond his reach, would not only have kissed her, but took her to bed as well. Why hadn't he kissed her? Was he even a man anymore?

Resolved to clamp down on his emotions and find some of his old self, he stood and moved around the table, a man on a mission, a man with something to prove. Ignoring her startled features, he continued around the table, stopping in front of her. His heart beat in his chest, hoping that what he was about to do would help to shut off the cries screaming to get out and not open the flood gates further. He stood beside her, looking down at her, staring at her with eyes laced with determination and a bit of anger. She looked slightly afraid, but he didn't allow it to register. He reached down for her hand and pulled her to her feet. He leaned forward and without feeling, kissed her. A second later, when he first allowed himself feel, he only felt relief as she returned the kiss.

They broke apart quickly and he stared at her. She laughed and he knew the kiss had led her to the same conclusions as him. It was never going to work, ever. It had been as awkward as their first conversation together. He allowed himself to laugh as well and punched her arm lightly. "So…"

"Yeah, not going to happen."

"No." He let the work draw out before he paused. "Friends?"

"Always."

He smiled, his smile a little more genuine, and moved back to his seat, staring at her awkwardly. He pushed his food around his plate, occasionally glancing up at Jessica and noticing her doing the same thing. "Look, let's just finish our meal and forget about this."

"Yeah…yeah, okay."

He watched Jessica take a bite of her food and he followed. He avoided her eyes for the rest of the meal, the awkwardness not wearing off, though he knew it would eventually. He finished his meal quickly and pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the table. He kissed her cheek goodbye and gave her a half hearted smile before heading back to the lab. He drove back allowing thoughts of Warrick and of the case to sink back in. While kissing Jessica hadn't accomplished much, the awkwardness of it had given his mind some reprieve from all the other thoughts consuming him.

* * *

It was information overload. It was a wild goose chase. He sat stunned as he sat in the passenger seat and listened to Catherine jabber on about the case and the Under Sheriff. It couldn't possibly be true, could it? Yet, she seemed so sure as she outlined to him, the Under Sheriff's offers to Grissom. As she continued to talk, he allowed the ideas to seed in his mind. The theory began to take root when he coupled her words with Sara's earlier in the day. The Under Sheriff had offered Grissom the lab, telling Sara of the offer. Why, if nothing was going on, would the Under Sheriff tell Sara? He wouldn't. And he wouldn't make the offer before the election either.

As it seemed he was the last to know, Greg grew angry. Grissom had some nerve to inform the rest of the team and not him. He knew Grissom, in typical Grissom fashion, probably hadn't even thought about it, but he wasn't about to make excuses for Grissom. He should have told him, immediately. He didn't care if would have been called in on his night off. No, he was only told when Catherine asked for his help on a wild goose chase. Imaging, searching for a safety deposit box on a Sunday night. There was no way they were going to trace that key that night. They were wasting time. Wasn't there something else he could be doing?

"Cath, this is a waste of time. The box isn't under Pritchard's name, or Ecklie would have found it when Warrick was killed. Besides, the banks aren't even open."

"I know that Greg, but I can't sit around the lab doing nothing. I need to do something."

"But Cath…"

"Look, we're not just driving around here. We're going to see somebody."

Greg's eyes snapped to Catherine. His mind raced through the possibilities, but he was reluctant to ask. "Who?"

"Vince DeRosa."

"No way." His eyes grew wide and he began to feel a little giddy.

"Look, if anyone can match the key to a bank, it's him."

"Okay. I assume you know the man, so what do you need me for?"

"I thought you'd enjoy this. It's right up your alley." Catherine shot him a glance half amused and half annoyed. "Besides, Grissom would kill me if I went alone. You know how he feels about my relationships with my father's less than legitimate connections."

Greg laughed in recognition. "Seedy connections. Does Grissom know where you're going?"

"No, Grissom's still in that daze, but when he does find out, at least I'll be able to tell him I brought you along."

"And Brass?"

"Same reason. You know how Grissom feels about your obsession with the old school Vegas Underworld. I'm just covering all the bases here."

Greg nodded. The car grew silent again and it gave him time to think about Grissom and the situation and the fact that he was only just finding out about it now. The excitement of the last minute faded as he thought about the reason for their trip, and everything he'd heard in the past half hour.

Unbelievable, that's what the situation was. Warrick dead two months and all along, the Under Sheriff was responsible? The Under Sheriff trying to bribe Grissom…Grissom, a man who would not bend in his convictions. And Sara back for it all, unknowingly returning only to be thrown in the middle of this crazy fire. The situation, the combination of elements, was explosive…volatile. It was messed up. The situation, what they were dealing with, Christ, what Grissom had to deal with, it was all so messed up. And, he knew he didn't even have half of the story. The part that was buried, that was still unknown, that he knew Grissom was trying to protect them from, was far worse. The Under Sheriff would have known Grissom wouldn't just accept control of the lab and leave it at that. There was something else, something else the Under Sheriff must have said to Grissom to try to ward off the investigation. There was no doubt in Greg's mind that Grissom was dealing with a potentially highly dangerous situation. Greg was still angry, but he did allow himself to feel some sympathy for his supervisor.

* * *

If Dante was right and there were nine circles of hell, he wondered which circle of hell he was traveling through. The seventh…the eighth perhaps? It was definitely one of the lower circles. It was a nightmare. It was hell. He felt so impotent, knowing who killed his friend and having nothing on the man and no place to start. Worse that the feeling of impotence was the fear, the fear of the man holding all the cards and having all the power. If only he could find something.

Grissom sifted through all of the results given to him by Catherine and Nick, looking for the minutest of clues. He worked, uninterrupted, for hours. The lab was dark and quiet…eerily quiet. Where was the Under Sheriff at the moment, and why was his spine tingling?

Despite the lack of interruptions, he was finding it hard to concentrate. The fears would rise up and take over his mind as he thought about Sara, all alone in the apartment, with an unknown threat hanging over her head. He'd picked up his phone several times, only to shake his head and put the down again before turning back to the files in front of him. Needing to hear her voice, searching for a little reassurance, he finally allowed himself to dial before closing the phone and chastising himself for letting his fears control his actions. Sara was alright. The Under Sheriff wouldn't try anything yet, not when they didn't have anything on him. It still didn't stop him from repeating the action.

Still, he had to hear her voice. He'd call once, before she went to sleep, wish her goodnight. It was a good excuse. She'd appreciate the thought. He picked up his phone and dialed again, feeling his stomach tighten when the line was busy. Sara wouldn't be calling anyone, would she? Not from his home phone. He quickly dialed her cell but the call went straight to voicemail. He hung up quickly, and without thinking about his actions, grabbed his jacket and headed out.

The house was dark when he arrived. It looked undisturbed, but that didn't offer him much comfort. He opened the door slowly and crept in, leaving the lights off. Treading softly in the dark, he moved towards the bedroom and pushed open the door, listening to the creak the hinges made. He moved towards the bed, examining the lump. As he got closer, he realized the lump on the bed was Hank and not Sara. He took a deep breath. Where was Sara?

As the panic and what he hoped was paranoia began to rise in him, he moved from the bedroom to search the rest of the apartment. He opened several doors on his quiet trek through his home, but saw no sight of Sara. He pulse began to rise, his breathing became labored. He moved to the living room and nearly fainted on the spot. Sara was curled on the couch, asleep.

Sara's relaxed form drew him towards her. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her embrace and join her in sleep. He sat on the edge of the couch and noticed her sleep wasn't as relaxed as he'd just imagined. It seemed restless. His hands skimmed the hair from her face, attempting to sooth her. Her hands came up and swatted his away before she flung herself into sitting position. He noticed her trying to calm her rapid breaths. "Shit Gil, you scared me."

He winced. "Sorry."

He watched as she rubbed her eyes and sat further up, leaving him room to sit next to her. "Is your shift over already?"

"No."

"What time is it?"

"One-thirty."

"What are you doing home?"

"I tried calling. The phone was off the hook and your cell is turned off. What are you doing on the couch?"

"I couldn't sleep in the bed. Someone kept calling and hanging up. The display read unknown. In unnerved me a little."

Grissom sighed. "It was me. I'm sorry."

"Gil, what's going on?"

"What?"

"With you. What's going on with you?"

"Sara…" He struggled for words and knew he had none to explain anything, none he could give her anyways.

"Never mind, it's okay. Are you home for the night or are you heading back in?"

He shook his head. "I have to go back to the lab."

"Gil…"

"We'll talk later, I promise. Are you going to stay on the couch?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll try the bed again."

"Good." He pulled her up and walked her to the bedroom. After she laid down next to Hank, he kissed her forehead. "Goodnight then."

"Night."

He smiled softly and leaned down to the dog that had been roused from his sleep. "Watch over her, Hank." He stood up, feeling like an idiot, an exhausted, paranoid idiot, and it was entirely his fault that Sara wasn't comfortable in their home.


	22. Chapter 22

_It isn't the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it's the pebble in your shoe."_

_- Muhammad Ali_

Chapter 22

The life in the lab seemed to have disappeared over the past couple of days. Noises that had been so present and expected, were gone. Time crept by, reminding him that the case was as dead as the lab felt, and the whole lab felt it. Gone were the sounds of life, replaced by hushed whispers that abruptly would end when he walked by.

If he was able to choose between the silences surrounding him now, with the chaos, the life, the bustle, the overwhelming noise of the past few weeks, he wondered which he'd choose. It wasn't an easy choice, or at least he didn't want it to be. Behind the silence, the place without the pressure being placed on him constantly by the Under Sheriff and by Ecklie, there was a different pressure, an internal pressure, and it was eating him up. He could hide behind the noise. The noise masked the reality of the situation. The silence allowed the reality to permeate. God help him, he'd choose the noise. For the first time in his memory, he did not want to know the truth. It frightened him, getting a glimpse into the unknown. He didn't want to have to worry about the lab, or his team, or Sara, or the Under Sheriff's growing desperation. He didn't want to be living in this reality. He wanted to hide behind the noise.

Sounds that entered his consciousness now weren't welcome ones. No, they only brought bad news, updates on how there was nothing to update him on, grim voices telling him that there weren't any leads. And, when the voices left and he was once again surrounded by silence, he saw their faces, their anguish, their despair. Silent moments he used to relish for their peace, became his nightmare. The silence haunted him…the truth haunted him, or maybe it was his inability to fully reach the truth that haunted him.

The selfishness of his thoughts bothered him. His team deserved better of him. Warrick deserved better. He couldn't deliver better. He'd given all of himself. There was nothing left to give anymore. All he wanted was peace, that nonexistent entity that seemed so far from his grasp lately.

A knock sounded on the door and at first he was relieved to have something to disrupt the latest haunting. Then, he remembered how each sound lately only heightened the nightmare, put it in the forefront. Somehow, he knew the sound was not going to be a welcome distraction. He looked up as Catherine swept into the office and took a seat across from him.

"Washington Mutual."

"Excuse me."

"The key, on Pritchard's keychain, comes from Washington Mutual Bank. The Bank opens in a half hour. I'm taking Greg."

"Sure." He sat back and for the first time, questioned how Catherine could have come up with the name of the bank. "Catherine, how did you track the key that fast?"

Catherine seemed to pause, and it made him nervous. She shrugged. "Vince DeRosa."

He wasn't expecting that, using a notorious mobster, whose connections, like Sam Braun's, had managed to keep him out of jail. DeRosa would never give away information without a price. At what cost, did Catherine get her information from? Grissom couldn't help but feel like consulting DeRosa was like making a deal with one devil to catch another. He ran his hand through his hair. "Catherine…"

"Don't start, Grissom."

"DeRosa is a criminal. He's unreliable. He's tight-lipped."

"So what? You do this sort of thing all of the time. You go to people with questionable connections for information. Christ, you were an alibi for a suspect in a murder investigation."

"She wasn't guilty. Besides, DeRosa is different. He doesn't give information for free. Anything we give him becomes suspect." He paused. "You were gone all night. I didn't see you around the lab at all."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

"He was a friend of my father's. Family is important to him. I preyed on that."

"I trust you took Brass with you for this little conference."

"I took Greg."

"Catherine…"

"Brass was outside. DeRosa wouldn't speak with Brass around."

"But he would with Greg?"

"He seemed to enjoy Greg's fascination."

"He would. He was never very subtle when it came to his crimes, flaunting his ability to stay out of jail when everyone knew he was guilty." Grissom paused. Knowing where the key came from certainly sped up their investigation, but he was still hesitant. Catherine's judgment could sometimes be classified as questionable. "And we didn't give him anything?"

"The lab didn't give him anything."

"And you?"

"That's my own business."

He didn't know what to say to her. "Catherine…"

"Look, I didn't break any laws or any rules. You can ask Greg. I made a personal arrangement, one that didn't violate any laws. I didn't sleep with him to get information; I wouldn't do that."

"I know you wouldn't."

"Then what? It could have taken a week to track that key. You know damn well the time we're up against."

He did know. The election for Sheriff wasn't far off. He nodded. "You could have let me know what you were doing…updated me at the very least."

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Yes, I would have."

"That's the reason I didn't let you know."

He sighed, knowing she was right. He'd have stopped her and she'd just be starting on her search for the identity of the key. She won and gotten the result they'd both needed. What was done was done. "Okay, but make sure you report back to me as soon as you find out anything about the safety deposit box."

"Will do." With that, Catherine was gone, out of his office before he could even register. And, with her departure, silence once again.

The quiet dragged on for hours, interrupted only briefly by Brass. He felt a pair of eyes on him and found Brass standing in the doorway to his office, looking him up and down. He stared back, unashamed of his completely disheveled appearance. What did Brass expect? This case had been killing him slowly. He wasn't about to dress up and act like he was still with it…together. Appearances be damned; he didn't have the energy. He was tired of pretending. "Something you wanted, Jim?"

"I thought you should know, David Richland dropped out of the race."

"When?"

"Announced first thing this morning."

"So McKeen only has one opponent now?"

"Yeah, Gerald Naismith. I've known Naismith a long time. He's a weak opponent, but stubborn…doesn't know when to quit. He doesn't stand a chance against McKeen. The Under Sheriff will eat him alive."

Grissom sat silently, feeling the beginnings of a headache. The new information, the new sounds that made their way into his brain, was anything but a welcome distraction. The only man who could challenge for Sheriff withdrew from the race. "Did Detective Richland give a reason?"

"He stated personal reasons."

"What kind of reason isn't personal?"

Brass didn't say anything, just shook his head as the implications hung in the air. Grissom stared back at him, the silence between them creating more and more tension with each passing moment. Finally Grissom turned away, letting out a long sigh as Brass left wordlessly. Brass's final glance was but one more look that would haunt him.

* * *

She came in, hoping to lure him away for breakfast. His brief visit in the middle of the night had left her agitated. She spent the night feeling as though she needed to talk with him, have one of those long conversations that went on for hours. They'd only ever had one of those and it had been before they were even together. Since then, they had been almost afraid to really speak to each other, not knowing what to say, afraid of saying the wrong things and hurting or ruining the relationship they'd finally managed to forge together. Maybe it was time to really speak again. Why did it seem like such a daunting task, talking to the one you loved?

She found him in his office in a familiar position: hunched over his lap top. She took a moment to watch him, noting the lines that crossed his face. He was tired and, she thought for the first time, that he looked old. She cleared her throat. "Hey."

Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes momentarily brightened. The flash of light was so short though, and his eyes soon resumed their restless, defeated stare. The tension returned to his frame. "Hi."

"I just wondered if you wanted to go for breakfast."

"I don't have time, he snapped. She winced and his voice softened. "I would like to, but…" he gestured to the computer and files in front of him.

"Work…right."

"Sara…there's just…so much…"

"It's okay, Gil." She turned away.

"Sara?"

She turned back around, finding him standing in front of her.

"I really…"

"I know."

"I'm just waiting on Catherine and Greg."

"Okay."

It became silent between them as they looked at one another. It took seconds that felt like minutes for one of them to speak. Gil was the first to break the silence. "Listen, Nick's in the layout room and could really use a break right now. Why don't you take him for breakfast?"

She wanted to eat with him. "Yeah, okay, maybe."

"Go, it'll be good for you and for him."

She sighed and nodded, heading out of the office and in search of Nick.

Nick was, as Gil had told her, in the layout room, slumped over the table. Gil had been right; Nick was badly in need of a break. "Nick, come on, breakfast is on me."

Nick glanced up at her. "Sorry, can't stop."

"New evidence?"

"No, same stuff I've been examining for the past day. I keep looking over it, searching for something, but I'm missing it."

"Take a break; give your eyes a rest."

"Coming from you?"

"Yes, this advice is especially good coming from me. I know what I'm talking about. I am the one that burnt out." Her joke only caused Nick to wince. She winced in reply, but soldiered on, trying to keep it light. "You can't turn down a lady when she offers to buy you breakfast."

Nick smiled. "Is that a fact?"

"Yes it is. We aren't even going Dutch. I'm buying."

"Sara Sidle offering to pay, this is something new."

"One time offer, you better take it."

"Alright, you're on. A quick breakfast."

She smiled. "We'll be out of there before you know it."

An hour later, they were lying on the grass in Sunset Park, a picnic of fruit and croissants beside them. "This isn't what I had in mind, Nick."

"You said you wanted something relaxing."

"What happened to eating at a café, or the diner?"

"Too stifling. Besides I wanted to try something."

"What?" She glanced at him nervously.

"When you were a kid, did you ever look up at the clouds and imagine they were something different."

Nick kept staring up into the sky above them. Sara lay beside him, staring up as well. "It was one of my favorite pastimes. I would pretend I was anywhere but where I was."

"I kind of wanted to do that today, escape from where I was and let the clouds take me elsewhere."

She moved onto her side and gazed at him. "There are no clouds in the sky, Nick."

"I know." He sighed. "I guess there's no escape for us today."

"Nicky, are you okay?"

"Fine, why?"

"Well, you're lying here, fruitlessly wishing for clouds in Vegas. We bought our food from a grocery store because you wouldn't even get take out from the diner. Did something happen with the waitress you were seeing?"

"We're just friends."

"Right. So when you peeked in and saw her working and chose to avoid her?"

"We kissed yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah, our first kiss. It only took two months."

"And?"

"She laughed. It was terrible, awkward, just…wrong. It could have been the worst kiss ever."

"Well, two months is quite the build up. Maybe it was the anticipation."

"What about you and Grissom?"

She tensed at his question, not comfortable with the turn towards her personal life. Her voice was tight. "What about us?"

Nick chuckled. "Relax. I really don't want details. I just wanted to know if it was awkward, after the build up the two of you had. Was it worth the anticipation? Meet the expectations?"

"I don't remember Grissom's and my first kiss."

"Come on."

"No, I really don't."

"That bad?"

"No, I don't know what it was like. A second after it happened, I couldn't even remember it. I think I may have been in too much of a daze, not believing it was happening. All I knew was that when it ended, I felt like I was missing something without it, and I knew I wasn't going to let it go."

"Wow."

"I can't believe I shared that much."

"I'm glad you did."

She smiled and raised her arms above her head, stretching. She brought them back to her sides and found Nick staring at her intently. "What?"

"Where are those bruises from?"

"What?"

Nick sat up and pulled her up with him, lifting her sleeve to her shoulder. "You have a hands print on your arms."

"It's okay. They're Grissom's hands. He…"

Nick interrupted her before she could finish, staring at her in disbelief. "Grissom did this to you?"

She saw the look on his face, and moved quickly to damage control. "It's alright. It wasn't anything angry, or violent. It happened when he first saw me yesterday. He looked so lost and so desperate, and he clung to me like he couldn't let go. He wasn't even aware of the grip."

"Yeah, well, he's had it hard lately."

She took a moment, watching Nick's frame relax, then slump. "Nick, what's going on with him?"

"He's been under a lot of pressure. This case we're working on…it's been hard on us all. We can't seem to find what we need to convict Pritchard's killer."

"Pritchard?"

"Daniel Pritchard? The officer who was wanted in connection to Warrick's murder?" Sara stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in question. "Sara, didn't you know? Didn't Grissom tell you what he'd been working on?"

"No…" She shook her head. _Oh God, no wonder._ Why hadn't Gil told her? "He didn't tell me anything."

"Oh. I shouldn't have said anything then."

"No, it's okay. I'm sure I'd have found out if I watched the news."

"It's just been really hard. Be patient with him."

"I will." She paused and studied Nick. "What about you. How have you been handling it?"

"I'm trying to take a page out of Grissom's book and not let it effect me. If I can keep detached, I may just make it through."

"Oh Nick, that's not you."

"It is now."

"No…no, you can't do that. Trust me, I know. I buried things for way to long. These things have a way of coming out. You can't let them build up. Trust You have to let things out. I've been there. I had to let things go."

"I can't let my emotions get in the way of this case. It's too important."

"Look, I know it's bad when you let your emotions run away with you. I used to get into a lot of trouble when I did that. I'm sure you remember." She got a chuckle out of Nick. "But Nick, I realized it was so much worse when I suppressed my emotions. That was when I really got into trouble. They built up and when they were released, it was bad. Some of them I buried so deep, and it was the wrong thing to do. I almost lost myself. You can't bury your emotions. Your empathy is your strength. Don't lose it."

"I can't…" Nick's voice cracked as he choked on his words.

"Nick, I know what I'm talking about. You'll get through this. You're strong. You've gotten through tough spots before. Don't lose who you are. It's really hard to get it back."

"But…" Traces of tears appeared in his eyes.

"Nick, you're a good man. Don't do this to yourself. Please."

Sara pulled Nick into a hug and let him cry on her shoulder. "You're a good friend, Sara. Grissom is very lucky"

She sighed and bit her lip, tears forming in her own eyes. "Yeah," she whispered.


	23. Chapter 23

_The present is the ever __moving__ shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope_.

_- Frank Lloyd Wright_

Chapter 23

If there was one thing Catherine Willows hated, it was waiting for a person who could meet with you right away, but still made you wait so that he could inflate his own self importance. She was pissed at the amount of time it was taking the bank manager to meet with her and Greg. When, after sitting in his office for over an hour, the manager finally strolled in, Catherine was ready to bite his head off.

"Sorry about that. You know how business is these days." The bank manager plastered on a phony smile and winked at her.

"Yeah, sure." Catherine bit back her angry retort but still managed to send back a withering glance. She looked over at Greg to find him squirming in his seat, no doubt sensing the mood she was in.

"I'm Colin Black, the bank's assistant manager. Our manager is on vacation right now."

_Typical._ Catherine nodded, not bothering to smile.

"What can I do for you?"

"We need access to one of your safety deposit boxes."

"Which one?"

"The one that accompanies this key." She slid the key across the desk, number up. She waited while the bank manager looked over the key.

"You don't have a name?"

"This key was found on a dead man's key ring. The man was wanted in connection with an earlier crime. He didn't have a safety deposit box back then, at least not under his name or social security number. I doubt, if he has one now, he's using his own identity."

"I trust you have a court order?"

"Right here." She pulled out a stack of folded papers and handed it over.

"Well then, anything for Las Vegas's finest."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "We're not cops; we're criminalists."

"Of course."

"Can you just look up the box and have someone take us there?"

"Of course."

She looked over at Greg and rolled her eyes again. Greg smirked back at her. They both turned back to the back manager and watched as he checked his computer. "The box is registered to a Brian Orr. I'll take you down to the safety deposit boxes personally."

Colin Black stood up and led them out of the room. Catherine slowed a step and grabbed onto Greg's sleeve, whispering to him as they walked. "What a creep."

Greg laughed. "He seemed to like you. I saw the way he was eyeing you."

"Don't say it Greg. Don't even think it. He's a slime ball."

"He was licking his lips and staring at you the entire time."

"Enough Greg, I'm already creeped out."

"That's because he was creeping on you."

"Shut up Greg."

"Not your type then?"

"I said shut up."

"Yes m'am."

She scowled at Greg and continued walking until they came to the safety deposit boxes. After removing the box, Catherine briefly glanced at the contents. "Greg, trace Brian Orr's name and social security number, follow that up. I'm going to take this back to the lab." She took the box under her arm and began walking out.

"Wait, where are you going with the box?"

Spinning around to look at the bewildered manager, she plastered on her best fake smile. "Oh, we'll need to examine it too. You might get it back eventually."

* * *

A quiet, repetitive beep-beep and a hand nudging his shoulder woke him from his slumber. His voice groggy, he managed to get out a "what?" before opening his eyes to the glaring sun. Putting up a hand to his eyes to block the light, Nick looked over to find Sara sitting on the grass next to him. He pulled himself up and stretched, glancing around at his surroundings.

"You fell asleep on me. I left you because I figured you must have been exhausted. How's your back from lying on the hard ground."

He looked over at Sara and found her smirking. "It's alright. Why'd you wake me if you thought I was so exhausted?"

"You're being paged."

"What?" He looked down at his pager and heard the beeping. "Oh." He pulled the pager from his belt and held it up in front of him. "It's the lab."

"Back to work?"

He sighed. "Yeah." Pausing, he glanced back over at Sara. "How long was I asleep?"

"About an hour."

"And you stayed?"

"Did you want me to leave you sleeping, completely out of it, in the middle of a park where you could easily be robbed?"

He sent her a grateful glance. "No, you're right. Thanks."

"Sure."

He stood up and pulled Sara up along with him, walking her back to his truck. He hated cutting their time short and hated himself for falling asleep and leaving her to sit, alone and bored in the park. Talking with her had eased his spirit and he was so grateful for her patience and understanding. "Are you going back to the lab, or do you want me to drop you somewhere?"

"I'll take a cab to Grissom's. You go to work."

"You sure?" He wanted to protest, knowing she'd be alone in Grissom's apartment, left to think and over-think.

"Yeah."

"You're really sure? I can't take you somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be fine. I'll take Hank for a walk, then maybe curl up and search for an old radio show on Grissom's satellite radio, sit back, relax…"

He glanced at her, searching her expression and was given a soft smile. "Well, okay."

They arrived at his truck. He waited until she got a cab, giving her shoulder a squeeze goodbye, before heading back to the lab. As soon as he entered the lab's doors, he was grabbed by an excited Catherine. He found himself following her through the halls as she tugged on his arm. "Cath, what?"

"Nicky, I'm glad you got a break, really glad, but we finally have a break."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah."

He was ushered into the layout room. There were papers spread out across the table. Picking up the papers individually, he took a moment to study each one, then another moment to look them over again, making sure his tired brain wasn't playing tricks on him. "Where did this all come from?"

"A safety deposit box at Washington Mutual."

"Whose?"

"Pritchard's."

"How come Ecklie didn't know about a safety deposit box before?"

"It wasn't under Pritchard's name or social security number. The box was registered to someone else."

"Where's the box?"

"Hodges has it in trace."

Nick looked back down at the papers in his hand, then back up at a smiling Catherine. "Pritchard documented everything?"

"Everything he could. Seems he didn't fully trust McKeen. Grissom is getting warrants we need right now. Once we get them, you get to start looking."

His face brightened, and the fatigue that had been wearing him down seemed to disappear. "We are going to nail this son of a bitch."

* * *

He'd felt himself becoming so paranoid recently, that he began to doubt whether or not he could distinguish between what was a real threat and what was merely a perceived threat, concocted by his overtired and anxious brain. Grissom now knew, had evidence, that the Under Sheriff was a very real threat. Knowing didn't offer him any comfort. They were still a long way from catching McKeen, and he knew, with every step forward they took, McKeen would become more desperate. Still, he had to move forward. There wasn't any other option to consider.

Ecklie arrived at his office, taking a seat across from him. He didn't wait until Ecklie was fully seated before pummeling him with information on their case and on the contents of the safety deposit box. Ecklie sat silently, stunned as Grissom continued to outline their theory. When he finished, he sat back, waiting for Ecklie to find his voice.

"Pritchard documented everything?"

"Yeah."

"But there isn't anything concrete there. Any lawyer could argue the evidence was planted, by you or by Pritchard. They could say that Pritchard had a grudge against the Under Sheriff, forged some documents, or they could say you did it. Around the lab and your team, you're an outspoken critic of the Under Sheriff. Any good lawyer would bring up your disapproval and could try to nail you on character, Grissom."

"Try being the operative word. My character has never been in question."

"They'll bring up past discrepancies, ones that are on file, such as hiding a relationship with a subordinate."

"Are you ever going to let that go, Conrad?"

"It speaks to character, Gil. It speaks to your reputation."

"My reputation is sound."

"Are you willing to damage it, damage the lab's reputation in this vendetta to find out who's responsible for Warrick Brown's murder?" Ecklie sent him a stern look, and then scratched the side of his head, where traces of hair still remained. "Look, if you had more to go on, then I'd say go after the warrants you need, but the Under Sheriff will bury you with this. He'll bury all of us. Christ Gil, there's an election in a couple of weeks. McKeen is the heavy favorite. You're going after the next sheriff right before the election. He won't, for one second, let you get away with damaging his chances at the Sheriff's office."

"I am aware of that. I'm also aware of all that you stand to lose in all of this. I know you were looking at a promotion. I'm sorry, but I thought I should inform you right away, before I went after the warrants."

"Gil, you need air tight evidence to get a warrant."

"I know, and we have it."

"You don't."

"We do. I haven't finished showing you all that we found."

"You have something else?"

"A recorded conversation."

Ecklie's eyes began to bulge. "Pritchard recorded a conversation?"

"There was a tape in the safety deposit box. I went over it with Archie. The recording sounds like a phone conversation. I think it may be their last. It's McKeen's voice. He sounds very upset, yelling at Pritchard, accusing him of blackmail, amongst other things. Once McKeen calms down, they plan to meet."

"You'll have to get a voice comparison."

"I know."

Ecklie ran a hand across his face and stood up, looking both bewildered and dejected. "Thank you for informing me."

"Yeah. I'm about to head over to Madeline Klein's office to meet with her. I'm sorry, Conrad."

He offered Ecklie a hint of a smile, watching as Ecklie nodded, betraying no emotion. Then, standing himself, he followed Ecklie out of the office and headed out of the building, hoping he had enough strength and a sound enough mind, to see the case the rest of the way through.

* * *

Being a detective, even on nightshift, he often got to work during the day, doing the good old fashioned legwork by the light of day, when people were up, awake, and able to answer questions. He was grateful for his position, knowing that many of his colleagues, criminalists and lab techs alike, didn't get to see much daylight. He shuttered to think of how they could live in the dark, working on dead bodies and seldom be reminded of the life outside. Of course, they did live in Vegas, and Vegas was most alive at night. Still, he preferred the day, liked the sounds of normalcy that came with daylight hours, took comfort in the daytime sounds of life. Bells on bikes chiming, and children laughing reminded him of that life. He grinned as he passed two bicycles and an overturned tricycle on his and Greg's trek up Brian Orr's driveway. He knocked on the door and waited.

A woman in her early thirties answered the door, studying the two men in front of her. Brass gave her a reassuring smile and introduced both himself and Greg. "We're looking for Brian Orr."

"One second."

The woman disappeared momentarily, returning with a man approximately the same age. "I'm Brian Orr. How can I help you?"

Brass watched as the woman hung around. He was used to being direct, but looking at the confused people in front of him, he found himself, like less than a week before, easing into the questions. "Do you have a safety deposit box?"

"Yeah, we have one at First National." The man cocked an eyebrow, his face still very perplexed, questioning Brass with his eyes.

"What about at Washington Mutual?"

"No."

"You've never rented a box at Washington Mutual."

The man glanced at his wife, then back at Brass. "No." He glanced back at his wife.

Brass looked at the wife hovering at her husband's side. "Maybe we should speak privately."

Eyebrow's furrowed as the man gave Brass a pointed look. He turned to his wife and his face softened. "Bren?"

"What's going on Brian?"

"I don't know."

The wife sighed. "You'll let me know once you find out?"

"First thing."

"Okay." Brass watched her as she turned back into the house, her hand lightly running across her husband's back as she left him.

"Now," Brass began, "you're sure you don't have another safety deposit box? One you don't want your wife to know about?"

"No, I don't. My wife and I share everything. What's going on?"

Brass looked at Greg, who pulled a picture from his pocket. "Mr. Orr, do you recognize this man."

Brian Orr took the picture, studying it carefully. "No, I can't place him."

"But you've seen him before?"

"No, not that I know of. He does look vaguely familiar though. Who is he?"

Brass cut in, taking over the questioning. "Daniel Pritchard."

"I'm sorry," Brian Orr shook his head, "I don't know that name."

"You don't?"

"No, should I?"

"I don't know. He had a key for a safety deposit box registered under your name."

"Sorry?"

"And under your social security number."

"Wait, what?" Brian Orr's brow furrowed again, his eyes crinkling, his confusion very evident.

Brass sighed. "Daniel Pritchard was a cop wanted in connection for the murder of a colleague. He was murdered a week ago. We found a key for a safety deposit box at Washington Mutual amongst his other keys. The box was registered to you."

"How?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. We'd appreciate your cooperation."

"Yeah, of course. Um, come in." Brian Orr opened the door wide and gestured Brass and Greg inside. "Maybe you can explain all of this to me and my wife. I think you've made her a little nervous. We don't have to worry about the kids; they're at their grandparents."

Brass let Greg pass first, before following Brian Orr in, sitting down on the sofa and watching Brian Orr's wife's anxious movements. He calmly went over everything he knew, outlining his suspicions that Brian Orr had become the victim of identity theft. After calming the nervous couple, and talking briefly, he and Greg excused themselves.

"Cop steals contractor's identity?"

Brass turned to Greg. "His occupation put him in a good position to do it."

"I understand how he could have done it, and I understand how they couldn't have known. It isn't like Pritchard stole money from them. He merely used the identity to open a safe deposit box. There is one thing I don't get though."

"What's that?"

"Well, Brian Orr got stuck with his initials. He didn't have much of a choice. And Brenda Orr, well she married into the initials, not really her choice, I mean you don't choose who you fall in love with. But, naming your children, Bryce, Bethany and Braidan, and sticking them with those unfortunate initials, well, that's just wrong. I don't understand it."

Brass sent Greg a stern look. "That's what you were thinking about in there?"

"No, not the whole time. Only at the end, when we were done with out questioning and they spoke of their children. It was a hard thing to miss."

He chuckled. "Alright, as long as your mind is still on the case."

Greg's face turned solemn. "Believe me, it's very much on this case."


	24. Chapter 24

_I__'m a charming coward; I fight with words._

_- Carl Reiner_

Chapter 24

McKeen's lawyers worked fast. In the time it took Grissom to drive from Madeline Klein's office to the courthouse, McKeen's lawyers had managed to convince the judge issuing the warrant to limit the warrant to McKeen's phone records, financials, and a search of McKeen's Lake Mead property. The warrant did not include DNA. Grissom stood in the judge's chambers, reasoning with the judge, but could not convince him to include it. The judge, however, did include was a strong warning for Grissom. If his search didn't yield any incontestable results, it was over. He returned to the lab living the intensity of the situation, tired, weary, determined.

They had to move fast. McKeen's lawyers were already at work, already a step ahead. The rapid pace at which McKeen's lawyers moved disturbed Grissom. McKeen's ear to the ground picked up a little too much. Knowing how little time they had, Grissom pulled out his phone, intent on paging the members of his team. He was about to page when the Under Sheriff, himself, came storming into the office, red-faced, eyes on fire, slamming the door behind him. McKeen moved towards Grissom's desk, gripping the edges while leaning forward over the desk and towering above a seated Grissom. As quickly as McKeen had entered, Grissom stood and faced off across from the raging Under Sheriff. "Most people show respect and knock before they enter here, Under Sheriff."

"You fucking asshole! You fucking coward! You have some nerve trying to pin this mess on me. Do you have such a problem with me that you'll do whatever you can to ruin my chances at the Sheriff's office? I offered you a job. Some fucking gratitude. You didn't want the job, fine, but don't try pinning the murder of some dirty fucking beat cop on me."

"I'm doing my job, Under Sheriff. I go where the evidence leads me. Lately, it has been leading me to you."

"Bull. You're a piece of shit. You don't like me but you're too much of a coward to face me man to man."

The Under Sheriff was agitated. His knuckles growing whiter as his grip on the edge of the desk tightened. Grissom knew he had control of this situation. He pressed. "Is that how you faced Daniel Pritchard when you killed him? Man to man?"

"Your arrogance will only get you so far, Grissom."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."

"You can't find answers so you think you can pin this on anyone you don't like. You're throwing out accusations because you aren't good enough to find the answers you need."

"I have yet to accuse you of anything and I am more than competent at analyzing the evidence presented to me. Science will tell me whether or not you killed Pritchard." Grissom sat down and flipped his phone open, ignoring the Under Sheriff. He knew the Under Sheriff wasn't about to offer up a confession, and he didn't have the evidence to press for one. It was time to get to work.

Grissom looked up when he felt the hand of the Under Sheriff lower his arm and pin it to his desk. He looked up to see the malice in the Under Sheriff's eyes. "You won't get that far. I warned you not to fuck with me. I will not let you get away with fucking up my campaign. You're nothing Grissom. You're done. Forget about running the lab, you won't even have a job once I'm elected Sheriff."

"Do you actually believe you'll be elected Sheriff with a murder investigation hanging over your head? What do you think the public will think about you when they find out certain truths?"

"Don't talk to me about truths, Grissom. Don't talk to me about fucking truths!" McKeen's voice rose. Grissom watched as McKeen's eyes narrowed and knuckles whitened with rage and tension. The tiny bones making up McKeen's fingers looked as though they were going to break through the skin. "Don't preach to me about morality and ethics when your own have been compromised. Two years, for two fucking years you were fucking one of your subordinates and hiding the truth of your relationship from everyone. For two fucking years, you were screwing one of your employees and hiding it from the city, the DA, the courts, your lab and your own fucking team. You didn't worry about how your investigations could be compromised by your relationship. You lied to everyone so you could continue to bang her."

"Neither of us would ever compromise an investigation for our relationship. We're professionals."

McKeen scoffed. "Is that so? Could she say the same thing? By the way, how is Ms. Sidle?"

"Leave Sara out of this."

"Does she know about all of this? Does she know you're here throwing away your career? Did you think about her at all before you started down on this self destructive path?"

Grissom shut his eyes briefly, trying to stifle the rising anger and bury the heightening fear. He made eye contact with McKeen, watching McKeen lean forward, voice lowering as he moved into Grissom's space in a manner suggestive of someone very experienced in the art of interrogation. "You should have thought about her, you know. She should have been all you were thinking of. You should have thought about the effect your actions would have on her, what she'd have to go through because you're hell bent on blaming someone. Or maybe you don't care. You're always here, working away. Maybe you don't care about her. Maybe you're just using her. Maybe you just fuck her little brains out to forget about your own pitiful life."

Grissom threw back his chair as he stood and gripped the Under Sheriff by the collar. Realizing his loss of control and seeing the glint in the Under Sheriff's eyes, he checked his anger and let go, flexing his hand and willing himself to calm. He couldn't let the Under Sheriff win. McKeen leaned forward again, continuing to try to bait Grissom. "Does she help you forget? Must not if you are willing to just cast her aside. Maybe she's not good enough…or maybe it is she who left you, tired of you. You're always here because she left you again. She's probably fucking someone else now and you're taking your anger out on me."

Knuckles white like McKeen's were moments before, Grissom ground his fingers into his desk. "Watch your mouth!"

McKeen looked around the office. "Watch yourself, Grissom. I gave you one warning; now I'm giving you another. This is your last one, heed it. You continue to come after me and you're finished. I will destroy you. You will have nothing left. First I'll take your career, then your reputation, and don't think I'll stop there. When this all blows up in your face, you will be very sorry. You won't have anything left. Back off now. You aren't going to destroy my career."

Pushing off his arms, McKeen turned and headed out the door. Grissom watched him walk to the door, and then softly spoke. "You've done this to yourself, Jeff." McKeen turned to look at him, eyes piercing his. Grissom waited until McKeen was out the door before getting up from his seat, walking to the open door and watching on as McKeen stormed through the hall, shoving by Brass, Catherine, Nick and Greg. Grissom turned his attention to the four approaching him, focusing on Nick. "Nick, where's Sara?"

"She went home when I was called in."

His stomach tightened. He looked past his team to see McKeen turn the corner and head to the exit. He tried to ignore the queasy feeling rising up, but McKeen's voice, his words, his eyes, all threatened to make Grissom sick. Grissom's eyes shot quickly to Brass before he shook away the thoughts and ushered his team into his office. "We have a warrant. Greg, you have McKeen's phone records. Go back at least as far as Warrick's investigation into Gedda. There's nearly a years worth of records to search, so Catherine will help you when she's finished. Catherine, you've got McKeen's financials. When you finish, give Greg a hand. Nick, you and I are heading out to Echo Bay. We have a search warrant for McKeen's property there. Jim, can you join us?"

"What about DNA?" Nick cut in, looking at him in confusion. "Catherine and I found a sample of blood on the dock that came back unknown. We need something to compare it to."

"The warrant doesn't cover DNA. We have to work with what we've got. We need to convince the judge to expand out warrant to include DNA."

"But, the Under Sheriff…"

"The Under Sheriff isn't going anywhere. He's in the middle of an election. Now, let's go. Nick, I'll meet you at your truck. There's something I need to take care of first."

* * *

The nightshift CSIs dispersed around him. He watched Grissom move back into his office and pull out his phone. Brass hovered in the doorway, studying his friend as Grissom spoke into the phone in low tones. Grissom's sigh was audible as he closed the phone. Brass stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. "Did you get a hold of Sara?"

"Yeah, and she's fine right now. She'd curled up on the sofa listening to 'Burns and Allen' on the radio."

"Burns and Allen?"

"Yeah, it's one of those things from her childhood. When things were rough, she'd curl up and listen to old radio shows. Her favorite was 'The Shadow', but she did like 'Burns and Allen'. I guess it stayed with her as she grew up."

"She'll be fine. McKeen isn't going to risk going after her. It's too dangerous. Too many people are watching him now."

"Behavior is impossible to predict, Jim."

"Yeah, well I know that McKeen knows exactly what he stands to lose. He's trying to get under your skin and scare you off."

"He's doing more than that and you know it. He's a dangerous man."

"I know. I guess my pep talk isn't working." Grissom looked over at him and frowned. "Did he give you anything?"

Grissom ran his hand through his hair. Brass watched as Grissom stared at his phone briefly before standing up and looking at him. "No. Come on, Nick's waiting."

"Gil, do you know what you're doing?"

"Either destroying everything I worked for and love, or finally freeing myself. More than likely, I'm doing both."

Grissom exited the office in front of him. As Brass watched him walk down the hall, he couldn't help but notice how Grissom shuffled as though he were a man walking towards his death, resigned to his fate. With sad eyes, Brass stood, staring after Grissom, looking on as Grissom's gait displayed all the tragedies, the fears, the failures, the defeat he'd ever experienced.


	25. Chapter 25

_No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through_

_- The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes"_

Chapter 25

Nick's left leg pumped up and down anxiously as the truck drew nearer and nearer to Under Sheriff McKeen's Lake Mead property. He hadn't spoken a word to Grissom since they'd left the lab's parking lot. The hour of silence allowed for the creation and growth of an anxious tension between the two men. Nick had no words for Grissom at the moment, nor did he care to voice any of the thoughts drifting in and out of his mind. While he had defended Grissom earlier that day, and knew that his supervisor was just as invested in the outcome of the case as he was, he still held a lingering anger and almost resentment at how long Grissom took to inform any of them about the case. So, he said nothing and nothing was said in return. The silence between them was just that, not comfortable, yet not uncomfortable, wordlessly acknowledged, accepted and agreed upon by both men. Nick could feel it, but he would not break it. Each mile that drew them nearer to their destination only brought more silence, and with it, more tension.

The drive to the cabin took them along a narrowly paved road stretching a few miles before bringing them to McKeen's driveway. They pulled onto the paved drive, passing through a grove of trees providing shelter from the road. They neared the cabin and Nick let out a whistle, marveling at the stone walkway leading up to, and winding around the massive cottage of log and stone. Nick pulled the truck to a stop and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He took a few seconds to stare at the beautiful cabin belonging to a man so vile and undeserving before shaking his head in disgust and moving to the rear of his vehicle. He opened the back up and pulled out one kit, handing the other to Grissom.

It was only moments later when Brass pulled up behind Nick's truck and stepped out of his own car. Nick nodded at Brass, watching Brass nod back at him before the detective's gaze moved from him to the cabin. Nick turned to glance back at the cabin and noticed that Grissom had already wandered up the stone path and was standing in front of the cabin. He followed after, coming to rest just behind Grissom.

"We'll have to start by finding McKeen's boat."

Nick nodded from behind Grissom, though he knew Grissom hadn't seen. "Property's large, but the layout looks fairly straight forward. This pathway looks like it leads out front. It should take us to the water."

Grissom looked back at him and nodded. Nick followed as Grissom slowly walked along the pathway and to the front of the cabin. They both looked towards the water, finding only an empty dock floating outwards, away from the shore line. "Where's the boat?" He looked over at Grissom, hoping Grissom possessed the insight necessary to answer the question, and noticed Grissom looking away. His eyes followed Grissom's line of sight and he grinned. Grissom turned to him, grinning also. "Boathouse," they said simultaneously.

Nick reached the boathouse first, finding the door locked. He turned back to Grissom. "We need bolt cutters."

"I'll have Brass grab some and bring them down."

Nick nodded and turned back to the boat house, studying it. While the cottage looked as though it was new or newly renovated recently and the yard recently landscaped, the boathouse looked older and, for now, untouched. Light green paint was peeling from the sides, the door's only lock was a hardware store purchased key lock, and the 3'X2' cement pad in front of it was cracked and revealed the year 1967 carved into it. "McKeen puts money into renovating property and cabin, but not boat house," he murmured to himself.

"Next on the list for renovations?"

Nick jumped. He hadn't heard Grissom approach. "Uh, yeah that makes sense."

Behind the men, footsteps could be heard. Nick turned to see Brass trudging up to them, bolt cutters in hand. "Nice boathouse. Fits in well with the rest of the property."

Nick couldn't help but grin at Brass's sarcastic quip and offer one of his own. "Maybe he's sentimental."

"Jeff McKeen, sentimental? Yeah, that man oozes sentimentality."

"Bolt cutters?" Grissom's voice broke through and Nick found himself turning sheepishly back to his supervisor. He reached for the bolt cutters and moved towards the door, braking open the lock.

The door didn't close properly. As soon as the lock was removed, the door blew outwards, and Nick was hit by the unmistakable smell of bleach. "McKeen's done some cleaning in here recently."

He was joined at the entrance by both Grissom and Brass. Grissom stood next to him, scrunching his nose. "Bleach. McKeen would have cleaned over a week ago. The old wood must have absorbed the odor."

Nick nodded and stepped inside, looking around at the surroundings. The building was mostly empty, save for some buckets, cans and rope. The boat was parked right in the center, covered by a tarp. Beside him, Grissom began snapping photographs. He walked over to the tarp, lifting the edge and peeking under. Brass came up beside him, and took hold of the tarp. Together they peeled it back and exposed the Under Sheriff's extravagant motor boat.

After several more photos of the boat and the interior of the boathouse, Grissom gingerly climbed into the boat to begin processing. Nick moved to follow, but Grissom shot him a look that told him he would be better off processing the rest of the room. His annoyance of his supervisor grew, but he shook it aside for the case and for Warrick. He took on the rest of the boathouse, working slowly and carefully, searching every nook.

Time passed and he hadn't found anything. Every so often he found himself looking over at Grissom perched in the boat, working in his own little world, seemingly unaware that Nick was still even in the same room. Nick made audible anything he came across in the room, but Grissom wasn't responding…or telling Nick anything about what he might have found. The silent treatment, the lack of professional courtesy, was wearing on him, and his frustration increased. More time was passing and his search was turning up empty. "Grissom…" He looked over at the boat and waited for a response. Grissom was still perched in the boat, head down. "Grissom…" He tried again, hoping his louder, more irritated tone would capture Grissom's attention, but still no response. Nick moved towards the boat, and stood beside it. "Grissom!" When Grissom's head lifted, Nick continued. "Have you found anything?"

"No usable prints on the inside of the boat. Some blood and more bleach. Any DNA would be degraded. McKeen must have placed a tarp or some plastic down in the boat before putting Pritchard's body in here."

"So we have to find the plastic?"

"Pritchard was killed nine days ago. Chances are the plastic has been thoroughly disposed of by now."

"Shit!" Nick kicked a can in frustration. Their best bet on getting something had been the boat and that shot was blown to hell.

"Nick, calm down. You need to control yourself. You're damaging evidence."

Nick's frustration was coupled by his anger and his annoyance at Grissom. He should have been working on this days before. Maybe it wouldn't have been too late then. "What evidence? A can? We have nothing. The boat hasn't given us a damn thing."

"We'll get it from somewhere else. Catherine is checking financials and Greg is checking phone records. Maybe they'll turn something up."

"And that will help? We need physical evidence Grissom. You know that. We aren't going to get a warrant for McKeen's DNA without physical evidence. You said that. You told us what we were up against. You're the one always preaching the Holy Trinity of forensics. We need physical evidence to tie the Under Sheriff in."

"I am well aware of what we need Nick."

"Bullshit. You aren't at all aware of what we need. We needed to find out right away what was going on, not kept in the dark. We needed you to be honest. We needed to start working on this earlier. We didn't need you to try to protect us. We needed you to be a leader and not a maverick trying to go on this all alone. I don't need to control myself. I am in control. Maybe not like you, but I am going to express my frustration over this." Nick paused and looked at Grissom trying to calm himself. "I tried to be like you, man. I did, but I can't. It's too hard. It's too hard to act like this doesn't affect me. It does. I loved Warrick and I'm pissed as hell at the thought that his killer could go free."

"This affects me too, Nick. You think I haven't thought about Warrick every day since he was killed. I need this too."

Nick let the conversation fall and took in Grissom's forlorn expression. He paused to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Grissom, look, you know I respect you more than any man alive, with the exception, maybe, of my own father. I know what this case means to you, but you aren't in this alone. We are all in this. We need to help, and we need you to tell us what you're thinking, so we can solve this and move on together. I know you're a private man, Griss, but I don't understand why you can't even share with us."

"Because that doesn't help us find the evidence we need to catch Warrick's killer."

"Well, what will?"

"I don't know. I need to think. Finish up in here. I'll be outside."

Nick watched Grissom's back as Grissom walked out of the open door. He shook his head and looked back at the can he'd kicked in frustration. Bending over, he picked up the can and set it upright before turning back to his work.

* * *

Grissom's pulse was racing when he walked out into the open air. Nick had said essentially the same thing as Catherine had only a couple of days before, but what could he do? What did they expect of him? His mind was in overdrive. He was trying to be forthright, but there was so much going on, he could only handle it the way he had always done before, focus on work, solve the case, and finally move on. He knew Nick was right and Catherine was right, Brass and anyone else calling him out was right. He had to make the effort because he needed his team to help him see this through, just as he knew that they needed him.

He began to pace around the beach in an effort to calm himself and clear his thoughts. He was just as angry as Nick at the lack of evidence, but he also had that gnawing fear that if they didn't find what they needed to convict the Under Sheriff, they were doing more than allowing the man ultimately responsible for Warrick's death to go free. He'd been working so long and so hard, it was difficult to fully clear the thoughts from his head. His fatigue fueled his anger, his fear, and his frustration. He was well aware of the toll the case was taking on him. He'd been closed off and obsessive, anxious and paranoid and he was fighting all the impulses within himself that told him to stop. He just needed one minute of clear thinking and maybe he'd know what to do next.

It was hard to do any clear thinking. Images ran through his mind, of the Under Sheriff, of Nick in the room without evidence, of Sara. Even the beauty and calm of Lake Mead's water lapping gently against the beach did nothing to clear his thoughts, but at least the air was fresh, unlike the pungent, bleached air of the boathouse.

Grissom turned sharply, looking back at the boathouse as his brain began to clear and he began to focus on the science. The boat had been present for bleach, but not enough for the odor to soak into the wood of the boathouse and create a scent so strong it could choke them a week afterwards. He strode quickly towards the door and looked in. Nick was printing the outer, top rim of the boat.

"Hey Griss, I've been able to lift a few prints from the front of the boat here. Most of them look like they come from the same source, but I've found a couple that don't fit in." Grissom nodded and continued to stare at Nick and at the boat. "Grissom, what is it?"

"The boat. It was present for blood drops, but not for spatter. Pritchard's body had several punctures in the abdomen. Plastic wouldn't catch the cast off along the sides of the boat, and the sides are clear of blood, except to a narrow trickle, where I think Pritchard was dragged into the boat. His body wasn't stabbed in this boat."

"It wasn't stabbed where he was shot either. There was absolutely no evidence of stabbing at that scene or on the dock. Catherine and I were sure he'd been stabbed in the boat."

"He may not have wanted to take that risk. The lake is a large recreation area. He may have been afraid someone would see him."

"So, where?"

"Nick, how much bleach do you think you would need to clean this boat?"

"Not much, really."

"Yet the amount of bleach that must have leached into the wood to create this smell…"

"He was cleaning the boathouse."

"Yes. Call the lab and have them impound the boat. I'll call Catherine and have her finish processing it there. We'll search the cabin while we're waiting for the boat to be picked up. Once the boat is out of the boathouse, we can process in here properly."

And so they worked, looking through desk drawers and garbage in the cabin, their search not yielding anything. When the truck to haul the boat to the lab did pull up, Grissom let out a harrumph, as his impatience was beginning to show through. He called for Nick and together they moved back into the boathouse, both noticing how the bleached odor still hung in the air.

The boathouse seemed larger without the presence of the boat. Grissom looked about the empty room, eyeing where to start. His eyes landed on the void created by the removal of the boat. The color of the wood seemed off. He nodded to Nick. "Discoloration where the boat was." Nick nodded and handed him his luminol. The glow of the compound lit up the discolored area. He sprayed around the room, finding evidence of cast off, and being followed by Nick who was scraping away at the wood behind him. When the room was all lit up, he followed Nick, both searching for an elusive piece of wood that held blood but no bleach.

Sample after sample they collected, hoping one of the hundreds of slivers of wood held blood where the DNA had not been degraded. They worked through the evening and into the night, dismantling boards, scraping, and testing. Grissom cut around cracks, hoping to find places where blood seeped in and was untouched by bleach. He and Nick worked silently, side by side until the interior of the boathouse was only a shadow of its former self.

After sealing and marking his evidence, Grissom went off in search of Brass, finding him sitting on the front steps of the cabin, keeping lookout over the driveway. "We're all finished up here. Nick's loading up his truck. We'll be out of here in a minute; I just need to do something quickly first."

Brass nodded and walked towards the vehicle. Grissom looked around and turned his back to Brass and Nick, dialing his cell phone. He'd been gone all day, and needed to check in with Sara, if only to ease his ever existing fears momentarily. He glanced over his shoulder, deciding to ignore Brass watching him, and made his call. "Come on Sara, pick up," he whispered under his breath, only to have his call directed to her voice mail. He sighed and turned around walking to where Brass and Nick were waiting.

"Get a hold of Sara?"

"Voicemail."

"You've got to stop worrying so much. She's fine. The Under Sheriff is playing mind games with you. You keep obsessing this way and you'll let him win."

Grissom nodded only to humor Brass. He hated that Brass kept watching him and kept trying to reassure him. Brass wasn't the one dealing with the Under Sheriff's insidious threats. Realistically, he knew Brass was probably right, but emotionally, the only reassurance he could accept was seeing for himself that Sara was alright, and seeing the Under Sheriff behind bars. Soon, he hoped as he climbed into the passenger seat of Nick's truck.

* * *

Dawning her coveralls, Catherine tied back her hair and prepared to process the boat in front of her. Grissom had told her what he'd accomplished, which amounted to a rough overall sketch of where the blood was wiped away. He'd printed the interior, and Nick the exterior. Her task was to get deeper and try to find blood hiding in the nooks. Her other task was finding an estimate of the distance of the boat's last trip. She was glad for the job. It would be a lot more interesting and far less mind numbing than continuing to scroll through phone numbers with Greg. She climbed into the boat and hunched down, beginning her search.

The sound of her name stopped her before she'd even had a chance to start. Straightening up, her head popped out of the boat, as she kneeled on the floor of the boat. She turned her head to the sound to find Ecklie watching her. "Conrad."

"Hello Catherine."

"Did you need something?"

"You brought in Under Sheriff McKeen's boat."

"Yes, I was just about to begin processing it."

"Be careful. If anything happens to the boat, any rips or cuts or tears and the Under Sheriff will have our heads. Try to be careful in your search. He loves this boat and he's already seething about the search of his property."

"I'll try to remember that." Catherine hissed, pissed that Ecklie would suggest she should be concerned about McKeen's property.

"I'm looking out for you, Catherine. If you don't find what you need to convict him, and the Under Sheriff's property is destroyed in the meantime, he will have your head along with Grissom's."

"If there is evidence hiding in here, I'm going to find it. I don't give a rat's ass about the damage."

"Just try to be careful. As I said, McKeen loves this boat."

"How would you know that?"

"I've been on it."

"You have?" Catherine sat straighter, her eyes narrowing as they focused on Ecklie. "Have you been to his cabin?"

"A few times."

"So you and McKeen have socialized." It wasn't a question. She studied Ecklie and saw the stress lines running across his face. Ecklie could be a pain in the ass, but he wasn't really a bad sort and she felt a little sorry for him. The only person close to facing as much pressure as Grissom over the past few days, and really the past few weeks had been Ecklie. Everyone knew he'd been bucking for a promotion with the Under Sheriff's announcement to run for Sheriff and now his hopes were dashed, even if the Under Sheriff went free, and by some miracle, was elected Sheriff. Catherine's earlier curiosity faded and her voice softened. "What do you make of all this?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to believe it, but when Grissom makes bold statements and goes after someone, I've learned to believe and trust him. Even with his judgment being diminished, it's hard to allow that he could be wrong."

She could tell Ecklie had been reluctant to share that information, but he had and she nodded her head in agreement. "He doesn't go after anyone just to go after someone, or to get closure. Never has. I don't think his judgment could ever really be obscured."

"You trust him with this?"

"Yeah, I do. He's right. We just have to prove it."

"Then tear apart this boat if need be. Just," Ecklie ran his hand over his balding head, "just find what you need to put him away. I'll handle the rest."

Catherine gave Ecklie a silent nod and watched as he turned and walked out of the room. She hunched back over, diving into the depths of the boat, hoping that somewhere, some droplet of eluded both plastic and bleach, and was waiting for her to find it.


	26. Chapter 26

_I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, his greatest fulfillment of all he holds dear, is the moment when he was worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle – victorious._

_- Vince Lombardi_

Chapter 26

It was a battle to stay awake during the drive home. Every so often Nick could feel himself begin to nod off and he would shake his head to keep his eyes open and on the road. The couple of times he did lapse into sleep, the sounds of the tires hitting gravel woke him instantly, and each time, he jerked the car back onto the road before it had time to drift into the ditch. He mulled over pulling over, but they needed to get the evidence back to the lab. Even a half hour cat nap in a locked vehicle on the side of the highway was enough for a defense attorney to attack the chain of custody in front of a jury, and have key evidence removed from the trial. Nick remembered the last time his actions caused the chain of custody to break and he was not willing to go through that again. No, the evidence had to get to the lab immediately. This was important, too important to risk a nap. Besides, he was too anxious to rest anyways. He wanted the case solved; then he could rest. It was just a matter of waiting for his fifth or sixth, or eighth wind to kick in.

Despite the jerky nature of the car ride home, the drive was quiet. Classic rock filtered into the car at a low volume, but no other sounds were heard. Nick glanced over at his passenger and studied Grissom. The first time he'd glanced over, he thought Grissom had fallen asleep, but Grissom's eyes were open, and had been open with every subsequent glance. Grissom was definitely awake. After the second near miss on the ditch, Nick wondered why Grissom hadn't said anything about it either time. He thought maybe each jolt of the car had awoken Grissom and the sight of Grissom's eyes open were a result of glancing at him after each episode. It was possible, but not probable, Nick realized, knowing that he'd glanced over other times and seen Grissom's eyes wide open. He did wonder why Grissom hadn't reacted. Both times Nick had frantically grabbed the wheel and steered back onto the highway while Grissom hadn't moved at all. Grissom hadn't jumped or sat straight up, or anything. No, he'd remained in the same position, silent and staring out the passenger side window with an eerie intensity.

The tail lights of Brass's car ahead provided something for Nick to focus on. There was safety in following Brass home. Surely Brass had seen him swerve, and if the detective had been concerned about it, Nick was sure Brass would have pulled over and had him do the same. Brass hadn't, so Nick continued to follow him down the highway, turning up the volume on the radio to keep himself awake. He glanced over a Grissom once again and noticed that even the loud music couldn't garner a flicker of recognition from his supervisor. Grissom was gone, lost to his own thoughts, and Nick was left to himself on the drive back. He sighed and turned the volume a little louder, singing along to the lyrics of CCR.

It wasn't until they were back at the lab that Nick saw Grissom finally move. He pulled the car into park and the passenger door swung open. He opened his own door and met Grissom behind the vehicle. He took a box of evidence from Grissom's hands and made his way into the lab, logging in the evidence immediately. The print lab called to him and he left Grissom to take evidence to DNA. He was tired and without the fear of staying on the road to keep him alert, he found it hard to keep his eyes open. It was memory, not sight that guided him to the print lab.

"Hey Nick, you look exhausted."

"I am exhausted. Can you run some prints for me?" He fished through the prints until he found the one he was looking for and handed it to Mandy. "Start with this one. Check it against Daniel Pritchard."

Mandy took the print from his hand and glanced briefly at him. He watched from the doorway as she performed her trade. When the results came in, he stood straight up and focused on her. She looked back at him, a giant grin spreading across her face. "It's a match. That is what you were hoping for, right?"

He returned her grin. "Yeah. Mandy, if I wasn't so tired I'd kiss you."

"I'll take a rain check."

He smiled softly and handed her the other prints. His face turned solemn. "We're sure we know who these belong to. Before you start though, I need you to promise to keep this quiet. It's confidential." She looked a little skeptical at taking that order from him and not from a supervisor. "I'm serious Mandy. You can call Grissom if you need to, but you can't let anyone know about what I'm about to ask you. Grissom, Catherine, Greg and me, that's it, no one else. You can do that, right?" Mandy nodded. Nick put his hand on her shoulder. "If you aren't comfortable with this, you can step out and I'll run the prints myself."

"No, it's okay. I've got this cowboy."

She smiled and he felt reassured. "Okay, I, uh," he faltered and dropped his hand from her shoulder. "I need you to run them against the Under Sheriff's."

* * *

"Come on, you have to be able to give me something!"

"I'm sorry Catherine, but the samples you've given me are too degraded."

"Well run another sample."

"I will but you need to get out of my lab and let me work. You can't stand there all night watching me run every single sample."

Catherine stared at Wendy and let out a huff. She knew she shouldn't be hovering over Wendy in the DNA lab, but she was desperate for results. She needed something to go on and she had the feeling that if she didn't get anything from the boat, and if Grissom and Nick didn't get anything from the boathouse, it was all over. She was impatient, but she knew she wouldn't win this argument. "Fine, just page me when you have some results…any results."

Bumping into something just as she turned to leave, she stopped and looked up. She'd just run into Grissom, and by the looks of it, almost knocked him over. He could barely stand. She stepped aside to let him enter. "Grissom, you're back, good."

"Yes. Wendy, I need you to run these right away. They're priority."

Wendy seemed hesitant and glanced at Catherine. Catherine watched as Wendy's eyes shot between her and Grissom. "Whose do I run first?"

Catherine turned her focus back to Grissom. "Do you think you have a clean sample?" He nodded. She turned back to Wendy. "Grissom's first, then mine. Don't let anyone bump us. Page us with the results and don't let anyone else into your lab without talking to one of us first. That means anyone. Call us if someone argues."

Wendy gave her a perplexed nod. She ignored the look that followed and took Grissom by the elbow, leading him out of DNA. "A 419 was called in. I sent Riley out and called in Simon Everett from days to assist."

"Good. Did you get anything from the boat?"

"I was able to swab some blood from deep into the cracks of the leather upholstery, where the cushions meet. Bleach spoiled most of the samples, but I'm confident Wendy can get something out of one of them."

Grissom nodded and opened the door to his office. Catherine followed him inside and sat down next to Nick and Greg, who were already waiting. Catherine glanced at Nick. He appeared just as dead as Grissom. She glanced back at Grissom who looked ready to start and realized that there was no way this could be done now. They needed rest and without DNA, the picture was only partially complete. They had to get this right, and if they wanted to convince a jury that they were correct in their analysis, they had to make damn well sure that they were completely focused. Grissom would truck on through everything; drive himself to the brink of death before stopping, so it was up to her to slow him down before he passed out from exhaustion, with Nick not far behind. She began to speak before Grissom could open his mouth. "Alright, I know we need to go over everything, but we won't have the full picture until DNA comes in, which could be hours. I say we wait for DNA to bring everything together. Until then, we sleep, two at a time. We'll rotate who sleeps and who stays awake to keep an eye on things. When Wendy gets the results to us, we'll get everybody up and continue, alright?"

Grissom and Nick both looked as though they were set to argue. She frowned knowing that they were the two who needed the sleep the most. She leveled a stern glare and noted how that sapped the argument from Nick. "Go slow to go fast, remember Grissom?" Her words knocked the argument out of Grissom and she was glad he and Nick were too tired to really put up a fight. Greg, she was relieved to note, was not at all hard to convince, not if his, "yay, a campout in the lab," was anything to go on.

"Yeah Greggo, but don't get too excited. Grissom and Nick are up first. Grissom, if you sleep in here and lock the door, we should be able to keep everything in here. Nick, you can have my office; it's quieter than the break room. Greg and I will keep an eye on things. We'll wake you in two hours. Where's Jim?"

"He went home to get some sleep. Nothing more he could do tonight."

"Good." She led Greg from the room. "You okay for a couple of hours?"

"Yeah. I think I'll go help Wendy run DNA, try to get this done faster."

"Good idea. Careful, she's a little pissy at people being in her lab tonight."

"Were you hovering over her while she was trying to process?"

Catherine didn't say anything. Greg gave her a cheeky grin. "You used to do that with me sometimes. Wendy won't mind my being in DNA just as long as you don't join me."

She made a face at him. "You'll need me to join you if you want her to let you in." When Wendy didn't let him in without asking Catherine, she gave him a wink and left him.

* * *

Whatever it was that was shaking him refused to stop, no matter how hard he slapped it away. The shaking continued and he rolled onto his stomach, trying to will away the intrusion. It was Nick's voice that slowly brought him to consciousness. Greg turned onto his back, yawned and stretched. He looked towards the window and saw light streaming in through the blinds. "What time is it?"

"6:45."

"No fair, we gave you your two full hours. I only got forty-five minutes. What gives?"

"Quit whining. You had two hours earlier. You can sleep later. DNA is in. Grissom just went into his office to wake Catherine. We're meeting in there."

Greg slowly sat up, holding onto the sofa with his hands. He leaned forward and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before slowly pushing himself to his feet. "To the command center it is, then."

His steps dragged as he walked through the halls, finding that it took an incredible effort to lift his absurdly heavy feet. Two and just over a half hours sleep was just not enough. He was feeling the effects of so little sleep and even his tired brain registered how he must have looked. Dayshift was filtering in and staring at him as he moved zombie-like and slow, towards Grissom's office. He passed Riley in the hall and tried to give his head a nod of acknowledgement. He was sure the effort failed. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Nice hair."

His hand came up and he felt the ends of his hair sticking out everywhere, not so bad. He patted downwards and groaned when his hand came to a flat spot where his head must have rested against the pillow in sleep.

"Heard you guys monopolized DNA all night."

He yawned and Nick shot him a glance. "Yeah, but I heard that it's free now."

"Great, thanks." He nodded and began walking again. Her voice called him back. "Oh, and Greg?" He glanced back over his shoulder. "You look like shit." She grinned at him.

"Great. Thanks."

"Anytime."

He left her in the hall and continued to after Nick. Once he reached Grissom's office, he shut the door and flopped down into a chair.

Grissom stared at him from across the desk. He was too tired to feel self-conscious. "Jim's on his way in. Greg, if you can find it within you to focus, we'll begin with you." He stared at Grissom and scrunched his eyebrows. It was seconds before Grissom's voice broke through again. "Phone records?"

"Oh, yeah right." He snapped awake and began to search through the files piled on Grissom's desk. When he found the file he was looking for, he opened it and shook out a packet of papers. He handed the papers to Grissom. "All the numbers in yellow are the numbers you would expect and Under Sheriff to call on a regular basis – PD, the lab, the Sheriff, Ecklie…you..." He ran off and was glad he earned a chuckle from Catherine. "Orange are the kinds of numbers that appear on most phone records – family, doctors, restaurants, anyone you might need to call, plumber, stuff like that.

"There were some unregistered cell phones he called and received calls from. The volumes on some of those numbers are high. They're separated into purple, blue, green and pink." Greg paused to make sure he still had everyone. "Purple and blue end right around the time Gedda was murdered. You'll see the blue number extends a little further. The green and pink numbers hold fairly steady over the entire year. Here's the kicker though, green and pink have tapered off over the past few weeks, I'm thinking because of the election, while the calls to and from blue picked up, then ended abruptly, nine days ago, just before Pritchard was killed."

He stopped and glanced around the room, turning to Nick when he heard Nick speak. "So it's fairly safe to assume that blue is Pritchard, while purple could be Gedda."

"If we had Gedda's phone we might be able to confirm."

"Wishful thinking Greg," Catherine cut in, "McKeen was on that scene. I'll bet he pocketed that cell so that days couldn't trace the calls to and from him."

Greg nodded. Ecklie hadn't shown them any phone records while they were working to clear Warrick. He'd given them everything else, so the chances were that he hadn't even seen the phone. McKeen or Pritchard could have lifted it first.

"That's a fair assumption, Catherine. We've accounted for blue and purple. Now, what about green and pink?" Grissom glanced around the room, waiting for a response. Greg knew they were all thinking the same thing: other dirty contacts.

Nick voiced his thoughts. "Other associates? Those calls dropped when McKeen began running for Sheriff. He had to loosen a few of his connections for the election. McKeen is powerful enough to have more than a couple shady connections."

"Even more than the two numbers highlighted in pink and green. I'm sure that some of those numbers in orange just appear legitimate."

"Wait," Nick jumped in, cutting off Catherine. "How are we able to trace these records? We're looking at calls the Under Sheriff made and received on his department issued cell phone. Why wasn't he carrying around an unregistered cell too?"

"It would be too confusing. He's the Under Sheriff. He can't risk having his other cell go off. Besides, McKeen was too arrogant to ever believe he'd be caught."

"Catherine's right. Anyways, we can't worry about all those other numbers. It'll take time to flush them all out. Vegas is good at keeping its secrets. For now, we have to focus on the numbers important to our case. The volume and timing of the calls is what's telling. Greg, look through all the other numbers again and see if there are any unusual volumes to a given number, and pay close attention to the ones that taper off around the same time the pink and green calls do."

"Sure thing, Grissom."

Greg took the bundle of papers from Grissom and placed them back in the folder before setting them back on the desk. He felt Grissom's attention shift from him to Catherine. "Financials?"

Catherine leaned forward, fingering her own file. Greg glanced at the documents quickly before she was able to hand them to Grissom. "Lots of the usual, mortgage payments, gas, electric, phone, and so on. Some unusual activity too. A few large transfers to a Red Rock Contracting…" she trailed off.

"He was renovating his property on the lake. Move on."

"Alright, the good stuff. Large cash withdrawals: November 21st, 07, $280, 000.000, April 16th, 08, 120, 000.00, May 19th, 410, 000.00, and recently, August 7th, an even $500, 000.00. That money was re-deposited on the 13th. Other deposits include, $615, 000.000 last September, $810, 000.000 last November, and since then, monthly cash deposits of $250, 000.000, right up until May."

"Thank you, Catherine."

Greg looked between Catherine and Grissom with his mouth open. Neither of them even blinked when discussing money transactions of that magnitude. Clearly he hadn't been doing this long enough.

"Alright, DNA and prints."

"Huh?" Greg glanced up and realized Grissom had spoken. He was still trying to get his head around McKeen's financial records. Nick began speaking and he forced himself to focus.

"Mandy confirmed matched one of the prints found at the front of the boat to Pritchard. The rest of the prints lifted belonged to the Under Sheriff."

Greg's eyes shot to Nick. "Pritchard touched the boat?"

"I think he helped McKeen tie off, and I think McKeen forgot Pritchard helped him."

"Pritchard was shot by his truck though. If he helped tie off, then why wouldn't McKeen shoot him on the dock?"

"The clearing is more private, Catherine. McKeen followed Pritchard up and shot him in the privacy of the trees."

"Then dragged him all the way back down to the boat? That's a lot of excess work, Nick."

Greg's eyes volleyed between Nick and Catherine, watching them mentally spar. He found himself agreeing with Catherine. Why would anyone go to all that extra work?

"If he shot Pritchard by the water, he risked being seen." True, Greg though, and he gave the point to Nick, not even hearing Nick finish. "Say he shoots Pritchard on the dock. He has to pull out his gun, fire two shots, get out of the boat, get Pritchard's body, which is probably now in the lake, into the boat, all without being seen. Even if the coast was clear when he began, it might not be when he's trying to drag the dead body out of the lake. Now, if he shoots Pritchard in the clearing, he has the time to wait and make sure the coast is completely clear before dragging the body out. If somebody does boat by, the body is sheltered by the trees and bushes. The only time he has to worry about is the time it takes to drag the body over the dock and into the boat and dragging dead weight is much easier than trying to lift it, especially when it's been submerged in water."

"He also could have followed Pritchard up, needing Pritchard to retrieve his records from the truck. He waited to get his hands on the documents before shooting Pritchard."

"Alright, I'm sold." Catherine gave into Nick and Grissom. "McKeen drags Pritchard into the boat and takes the body back to his boathouse to puncture it before dumping it?"

"DNA confirms it. Several of the samples of wood Nick and I scraped from the walls and floor of the boathouse contained usable samples. Wendy and Greg," Greg smiled at Grissom's recognition of his work overnight, "were able to isolate those samples. Wendy ran it against Pritchard, same DNA. The blood is Pritchard's. It's enough for a warrant."

Grissom smiled and Greg looked around to see the same relieved grin he was sure he was sporting, on both Catherine's and Nick's face. His eyes lit up and he was no longer tired.

"So let's map this."

Grissom didn't have time to start when the door opened and Brass stepped in. "Did I miss something?"

"I just gave them the good news."

"I see that."

"You knew? Before us? He was home sleeping; we were at the lab!" Greg looked to Brass then to Grissom.

"Relax Greg. He woke me up and told me to come in. I told him that it better be good if he was interrupting my beauty sleep. All he said was that you had him. He didn't say how."

"We were just about to get to that. Who wants to take it?"

Greg watched as Nick looked directly at Grissom. "It's yours, Grissom."

"Alright, Pritchard kills Gedda and disappears, only to reappear, inconveniently, when the Under Sheriff announces his plans to run for Sheriff."

"Right, he gets greedy and tries to blackmail the Under Sheriff." Greg was so excited he couldn't help but jump in.

"Thank you Greg. McKeen arranges to meet Pritchard and kills him. He drags the body from the brush to his boat and transports the body to the boathouse."

"Where he stabs the body to puncture the internal organs and delay the build up of gases in the body."

"Yes, Nick. He thinks that by puncturing the organs, the body will decomposed under water before it's discovered. He waits until dark and dumps the body in a hidden cove."

Grissom paused and Brass got in on the act. "Only, the body is discovered when a group of school children are taken to the cove to learn to dive."

"Something he didn't account for. After dumping the body, he returns to his property and cleans his boat, not even fathoming that a school trip taking place in November would lead to the discovery of Pritchard's body only one week later. While cleaning, McKeen forgets about wiping down the front where Pritchard touched it. He scrubs bleach all over the boat and boathouse, degrading most of the DNA, but not all of it. Catherine, you'll be happy to hear that Wendy was able to draw one usable sample from the boat. It matched Pritchard."

Catherine beamed. "So we have Pritchard's print on the boat and Pritchard's blood in both McKeen's boat and boathouse. We've got him."

"Yes. Brass and I will get a warrant for McKeen's DNA. I'll take our findings to Ecklie and to Maddy Klein. I'm sure Maddy will be pressing charges immediately. Greg, I know I told you to recheck the phone records, but we won't need your new findings to charge McKeen. Have it done before the pre-trial hearing. Right now, go home and get some sleep, all of you."

One by one they filed out, first Catherine, then Nick, and then him. He picked up the phone records and waved them at Grissom, letting Grissom know he was on it. He'd look as soon as he got home, because he knew that there was no way he was going to be getting any sleep now. It was over.


	27. Chapter 27

…_I shook hands with the devil. I have seen him, I have smelled him and I have touched him. I know the devil exists…_

_- Romeo Dallaire _

Chapter 27

Limbo. Perhaps it was the promise of resolution that had brought him here, to the point between the gates of hell and the edge of purgatory. It wasn't over, but he'd come a long way. He'd worked hard to claw his way through the inferno, and while he wasn't certain that he'd made it all the way out, he could see some light ahead. The truth. Knowing what happened and how it happened brought a dangerous sense of sweet relief. He knew the truth, but without a conviction, that truth would only condemn him to a life of torture…the one that got away. It would be one of the most painful failures of his life.

It was with those thoughts he entered the office of Assistant District Attorney, Madeline Klein, towing a strange line between certainty and apprehension. He had one shot to get it right, to convince Madeline Klein to charge the Under Sheriff, and to present her with the evidence to do so. He'd been thinking about that shot all night. In the hours he should have been resting, he had laid in his office going over every piece of evidence in his mind, as he would before a trial. He thought of every question that would be asked, every objection that could be raised, and he catalogued each of his answers. What he didn't do in those two breaks of two hours each, was rest.

Jim Brass had been shooting him odd looks all morning. Grissom knew what Jim had been thinking, that he should have at least tried to rest. How much of an argument could he put up being as drained as he was, looking…smelling the way he did? Anyone who didn't know him would never take him seriously. His reputation guaranteed that they had. First was Ecklie, who had listened sorrowfully, without response, nodding uncharacteristically and allowing Grissom his spiel. Then, it was the judge issuing the new warrant, whose own eyes betrayed his disenchant, as though even in his old age he still harbored some illusions about goodness and justice and just leadership. Finally, it was Maddy, and while he'd already gone over the same evidence twice that morning, he made sure to go slowly, coherently, answering any questions she might have. When he finished, he waited while she sat, formulating her response. In those moments that passed he let his eyes drift close, felt the racing of his heart, and opened his lids to stare at her with sad, hopeful blue eyes.

"Jim, arrest him. I'll file the charges."

Grissom looked between Brass and Madeline Klein and felt months of tension drop from his shoulders. Brass stood up and slapped him on the back and he was too relieved for words.

"Well, are you going to sit here all day, or go and arrest him? Come on, Grissom, don't act so stunned."

He was up on his feet immediately. "Once we get his DNA sample, we'll be able to tie him to the crime scene. The case will be indisputable."

"Have you spoken to the Sheriff yet?"

"Not yet. He was our next stop."

"He won't appreciate you going to everybody before him, but never mind. I'll call him and have him suspend McKeen of his duties immediately."

"Thank you, Maddy."

She waved her hand at him. "I'm happy for you, Grissom."

He nodded his thanks and followed Brass out the door. Brass waited for him in the hall and gave his shoulder a firm pat. "It's over."

"Almost."

"They're filing charges."

"Yeah. I'm going to call the team and let them know." Grissom pulled out his phone and began dialing as they walked to Brass's car. One by one he informed each member of his team and he could feel their relief on the other end of the line. Beside him, Brass drove, calling some officers to meet them at the Sheriff's office. After Grissom finished hanging up with Greg, he made one last short phone call to Ecklie, updating the lab director. He hung up that call just as they were pulling into a parking space in front of the building. He and Brass simultaneously exited the car and walked astride into the office. While Brass waited at the entrance for the officers to arrive, Grissom wandered down the hall, spotting the Under Sheriff just as he was entering his office. Leaving Brass, he strode towards the Under Sheriff's office, knocking soundly on the door.

Under Sheriff McKeen answered the door with a look of annoyance. McKeen stood aside and let Grissom pass. Grissom turned to face the Under Sheriff just as McKeen closed the office door. He watched McKeen circle the desk and take a seat. He stood across from McKeen, declining the offer of a chair. "Something I can help you with?"

"I've come for your DNA."

McKeen sat back, eyes narrowing. "Is that so? Well, you aren't going to get it."

"I am. I have a warrant. You have to comply."

"Let me see it." He reached into his pocket pulling out a folded piece of paper, handing it to the Under Sheriff. McKeen looked over the paper and crumpled it up. "You son of a bitch. You fucking son of a bitch. How dare you…you arrogant prick?"

"It's over, Under Sheriff, we have you. The DA's office is filing charges for murder. Brass and some officers are coming to arrest you right now."

"Bullshit."

"We have Pritchard's blood in your boat and in your boathouse."

"You couldn't. It's not possible."

"It is. I'll admit you did a good job at making it as difficult as possible to extract DNA. Most of the DNA was degraded by the bleach you used to clean up. The amount of bleach you used should have made it impossible to get any DNA out of the blood, but we got just enough out of your boat to place Pritchard there and we got more than enough from your boathouse. If it hadn't had been for the old wood…"

Grissom paused in his speech and saw that he had McKeen. The Under Sheriff was looking on in anger and he could see McKeen calculating in his head. He pressed on. "You didn't think about that did you? Your boathouse is old. The wood has deep cracks in it. With all the other renovations going on, I'm surprised you haven't replaced the boathouse. Maybe you were waiting until after you committed murder and impaled a dead body there. You didn't want blood in the new boathouse? After all, it doesn't really leave. Even if you can't see it, it's still there, and you know it's still there. There are some things you just can't clean, Lady Macbeth."

"You can't prove any of this." McKeen's face grew red and his eyes pierced into Grissom's.

"I can. How old is the boathouse? The cement pad by the door says '1967', but the wood suggests the boathouse is even older. In fact, the wood is so old and rotten and porous, it absorbed the odor from the bleach. Even nine days later, the smell of bleach was overpowering, which is something you'd know if you had gone back to your cabin at all."

"So I cleaned my boathouse with bleach, so what?"

"You did more than that. I've seen your financials. Did you use those monthly deposits to pay for your renovations?" McKeen's fist came down hard on the desk. Grissom continued on. "You didn't just clean your boathouse with bleach; you tried to manipulate the evidence. You used a lot of bleach. You scrubbed and scrubbed the surface of the wood on the walls and on the floor, but you didn't clean into the cracks. We found a significant amount of blood beneath your floor boards, and we were able to find numerous samples of blood from the cast-off within the cracks of your walls. It's enough for an arrest."

McKeen stood quickly. The movement caused Grissom to take a step back. He stared at McKeen, seeing that McKeen had picked up a gun and was pointing it at him. His eyes quickly shot to the door and discovered the lock was turned. "Look at me!" Grissom turned his eyes back to McKeen. "You should have taken the deal, Grissom. You could have been the new lab director. Now, you're nothing. You have nothing."

Grissom scoffed. "'He who sacrifices his conscience to ambition burns a picture to obtain the ashes.' Chinese proverb."

"You self righteous bastard. You act as though you are so morally superior. Pritchard was a dirty fucking cop. He's better off dead. So is Gedda. They were all dirty. You think you're doing the world a favor by coming in here and threatening to arrest me. I am the law, Grissom and I put away dirty fucking criminals all the time. This town needs me."

"Warrick Brown wasn't dirty. You killed a good man. What was the worth in that?"

The gun in McKeen's hand wavered. Grissom stared at it, watching McKeen's grip tighten as he grew angrier. "You, you and your fucking CSIs can't leave anything alone. He wouldn't be dead if he'd only left it alone. Why can't you just leave things be? You talk about worth and morality and justice but you have no idea how this town works. Years of living here and you still have no fucking clue. Sit down Grissom."

Grissom was still staring at the gun in McKeen's hand. McKeen had steadied it and the barrel was pointing right at Grissom's heart. Grissom took in McKeen's calm, cool features and met his icy eyes. He slowly took a seat, watching as the gun followed his movement.

"Are you carrying?" McKeen's voice was even and controlled. Grissom shook his head. McKeen sat back down across from him. "Your cell phone, take it out of your pocket, turn it off and place it on the desk." He did ask the Under Sheriff asked. "You're not going to get out of this."

He took a deep breath. "Brass will be here any second to arrest you. It's over. Even if you beat the charges, you will never be elected Sheriff."

McKeen nodded. "You took that away from me and you didn't care what you sacrificed to do it."

Grissom's eyes shot straight to McKeen's, wondering at the meaning behind the comment. McKeen seemed to be studying him. "When you searched my property, that was the last straw. I had to do something."

He continued to stare at McKeen, imploringly. "What are you talking about?"

"Your life, Grissom. I told you I wouldn't let you get away with it." McKeen cocked his head slightly as he stared at Grissom. Then, McKeen's voice dropped, quiet and low. "When was the last time you spoke to Miss Sidle?"

His heart stopped. He remembered the call that went straight to voicemail late the previous night. He hadn't called again after that, being swept away by the momentum of the case. The last time he had spoken with her had been just before he left to search McKeen's property. McKeen looked at him, but he remained silent.

The Under Sheriff let out a short laugh that made him feel uneasy. "You haven't spoken to her. How do you know she hasn't fallen over some bank while walking that dog of yours? Jogging at night in the park can be very dangerous, you know. There are a lot of dangerous people out there. It's also very dark. If something were to happen to her, the chances of someone being around to help are very slim."

He stiffened. His hands clenched reflexively. As his fists grew tighter and tighter, he could feel his own nails dig into his palm. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain in control. The Under Sheriff was only playing mind games with him. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. McKeen had been a detective; he could read people. Grissom repeated the thoughts over and over in his head. He tried not to let the fear overtake him, but McKeen's words were burning into him, torturing him. Knowing that Sara often took Hank out at night only led to more agony. He found the fears consuming him. He squeezed his hands together and clamped his eyes shut. McKeen was lying. The words were just part of the Under Sheriff's mind games. He wasn't going to play those games. "It's over," he whispered.

"You ruined my life. How does it feel to know I've ruined yours?"

It hurt. To even fathom it caused an intense, unbearable pain.

"It was your choice Grissom. Will you carry around the guilt?"

"Stop!" He stood up quickly, glaring at the Under Sheriff before turning and dropping his eyes to the floor. "Stop."

"Sit down, Grissom."

"It's over," he whispered again.

"Sit down."

Grissom faced McKeen and studied him, his face, the anger, the defeat. McKeen was a clever man, clever enough to rise up to the Under Sheriff position quickly, too sharp to do anything obvious to jeopardize it. "You haven't done anything to Sara. You wouldn't be stupid enough to risk it. I think you were still arrogant enough to think you could get away with all this. That's why you're still here. You had the time to run away, but you stayed. You knew you wouldn't get away with doing anything to Sara, but you still thought you'd get away Pritchard's murder. Your arrogance cost you.

"I said, sit down!" McKeen's gun shook within his hand.

Grissom moved to the chair but a pounding on the door stopped him. "Jeff McKeen, it's Jim Brass. Open the door."

Grissom stared at McKeen. His exterior became cool. "It's over," he repeated more calmly this time, the two words becoming his mantra.

"Sit down, Grissom."

"If you shoot me, you're dead. Those men outside will bust open the door and shoot you."

"Under Sheriff McKeen, open the door right now!" Brass's words added fuel to Grissom's.

"You god-damned asshole. You ruined everything."

"It's over, McKeen."

"Sit down!" Grissom sat.

Both men grew silent. The door shook loudly and they both looked at it. "McKeen, there are two officers with me. This is your last chance to open up. Open the door, now!"

McKeen didn't move from his seat. Grissom watched as McKeen shifted the gun in his hand. McKeen held it up, barrel pointing towards the ceiling and Grissom tried to read the thoughts running through the Under Sheriff's mind. The barrel of the gun came back down and McKeen poised his finger on the trigger. The gun moved again and Grissom followed the movement with his eyes. The banging on the door picked up in intensity, but the words spoken from outside were jumbled and they faded into the background. The gun steadied and the two men stared at one another. Grissom's eyes widened as he saw something flash quickly through McKeen's eyes. McKeen's grip on the pistol grew firmer. The finger curled around the trigger, pulling it back. The boom from the gun was followed by a long, deep silence.


	28. Chapter 28

_My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with __silence__ in the tortured soul__._

_- William Shakespeare_

Chapter 28

He stopped pounding on the door at the sound of the deafening crack. Instinctively, he threw himself away from the door and ducked down beside the wall, gun thrust up in the air. Then, everything stopped. The eerie calm inside the office was disquieting. He motioned to the door and watched as one of the officers rammed into the door with his shoulder. The door gave little and the officer began to kick the door. The only sound heard in that time was the thumping of shoulder, then foot, on the door.

It was a nightmare to be outside the locked office, trying to break in after hearing a shot fired. That nightmare was only made worse knowing, _knowing_ that Grissom was inside. How did it get to this moment? Everything seemed to go in slow motion as the officers kicked at the door and he thought back on the events leading up to that point.

_He__ had been waiting patiently for the officers to arrive. He'd also been talking aloud for a couple minutes before he realized he was alone and Grissom had taken off. Grissom's sudden disappearance bothered him, but didn't go after the man. He didn't think it would have done any good. Grissom was stubborn and prone to wandering off alone. He'd known where Grissom had gone, should have expected it earlier, but decided not to worry too much about it. Maddy Klein had phoned the Sheriff, and the Under Sheriff would be suspended and disarmed by now. He'd be joining Grissom momentarily, anyhow. So, he'd waited for the officers arrive, briefing them once they had, and taking a moment to calm a young recruit nervous about the thought of arresting the Under Sheriff. It wasn't until the Sheriff strode purposefully past them that he began to grow alarmed._

_He glanced down the hall and jogged after the Sheriff, stopping him. "Are you just coming in?"_

"_Yes. I was at home when I got the call from ADA Madeline Klein. I drove straight over."_

"_So you haven't spoken with McKeen yet?"_

"_I'm on my way to do that now. Really, Jim, I don't have time for this."_

"_You haven't suspended him? He hasn't handed over his service pistol?"_

"_What is wrong with you?__ No, I haven't. I just got in. You know I have to do it in person. Now, where's Grissom?"_

_Brass had looked around the halls, hoping to spot Grissom in them. He didn't. "I don't know. I think he went to McKeen's office."_

"_Is McKeen in his office?"_

"_I don't know." He__ had hoped not, but couldn't believe any otherwise. He stared at the Sheriff and grew angry at the whole situation. Shit, what the hell was Grissom doing? Why couldn't he have waited? Why was he always going off alone, trying to make sense of things and putting himself in danger? He'd known that if Grissom and McKeen were in that office together, Grissom would be facing a desperate man. Troubling Brass further was the knowledge that Grissom had probably walked into the office unarmed. Brass shot the Sheriff a look of trepidation and began to walk quickly down the hall, the Sheriff and officers following._

_They'd reached the door and heard voices. Grissom's voice had been muffled, but the Under Sheriff's came booming through. It was threatening, and Brass felt the weight of the situation. The Under Sheriff was in control, or trying very hard to establish control. __Having to react instantly, knowing the danger involved, Brass had pulled out his sidearm and held it up in front of him. He quietly checked the door knob and found that it had been locked. Waiting until the other officers had their weapon's raised, he'd knocked on the door and demanded entrance. It was the lack of response that made his response to the situation critical. Instead of answering him, the Under Sheriff had yelled for Grissom to sit down. Brass had to assume that McKeen was armed and had his weapon pointed at Grissom. _

_Thinking back to the last hostage situation he'd faced __hadn't helped matters. Last time, he'd been shot, critically, entering a hotel room with a bullet proof vest. Circumstances were different this time, though that knowledge didn't offer any comfort. He had no bullet proof vest and was dealing with a man who was very much aware of how hostage negotiations worked. He'd known McKeen wouldn't be negotiating anything. There was no point in trying to bluff. McKeen's only possible motive could be revenge. Anger brought desperation and Brass had feared for his friend. He'd only hoped that he could get through to the Under Sheriff, and hope that the Under Sheriff valued his own life more than he sought revenge. _

_In an effort to get through, he'd kept yelling at McKeen to open the door, but McKeen's strained voice, still yelling at Grissom inside that office, only increased in desperation. Then, there'd been silence, absolute, utter, heart-stopping silence. The office had become too calm and he'd known that a decision had been made. The door hadn't opened and the quiet dragged on. He'd stood in front of the door, his stomach in knots, finding that he too was becoming desperate. _

_Knowing that the situation was out of his control, he d__id the only thing he could think of at that moment. He banged on the door with his fist, but still heard nothing. He pounded again, and again, pounding louder and louder, yelling at McKeen to open the door. The Sheriff and officers began yelling beside him, trying to reason with him, but the silence inside the office prevailed. He'd stopped pounding, stopped shouting, stopped everything and stood back, trying to figure out his next move._ _That was when he heard the gunshot._

The door swung open and Brass broke himself from his thoughts. His mind had been playing tricks on him, mixing the day's events with the events from two and a half years previous. It was time to focus on what was inside that office. Gun drawn, he edged in to the room behind the officers. The sight in front of him caused him to stop dead in the doorway. "Ah, Christ."

* * *

He died mid-morning. Everything had turned to silence after the gun was fired. He couldn't hear a sound, couldn't see, could barely feel and he knew a part of him had died. It hadn't been the first time. There had been so many instances in his life that had changed him in such a profound way that the man he'd known had died. How many times does a man die? How many times can a man be reborn? How much of his self was salvageable? How much was beyond salvation? Lost? He'd been dying so slowly for so long, he couldn't understand how, after experiencing this last stunning, incomprehensible event, there could be any of him left.

The Under Sheriff had committed suicide…right in front of him. McKeen had put a bullet in his own temple and had forced Grissom into a situation where he had to witness. Grissom had watched a man so unwilling to relinquish control that the only option left was to kill himself. Sensing control was about to move beyond his grasp, McKeen had taken what was left, and killed himself on his own terms. And Grissom had known it was about to happen. He'd seen it in McKeen's eyes. He'd seen the resignation and the desperation and the total defeat. He'd seen that hint of madness, that flicker of intransigence, that last-gasp, fatal decision.

He'd been in similar situations before. He'd watched on as Catherine had shot Sid Goggle just in time to save him. He'd been witness to suicides before too. He'd been only a few feet from Walter Gordon when Walter Gordon blew himself up. Ernie Dell had sent Grissom the video of his suicide. Those events had affected him in such a way, he still found himself questioning. He didn't understand. That may have been the worst part, the not understanding. It was the trying to make sense of things, the trying to gain understanding that left him haunted. Try as he might, he'd never been able to grasp it. Those events had disturbed him, devastated him, fundamentally changed him, and left him altered in a profound and frightening way. He'd seen so much, experienced so much, he feared he wouldn't be able to handle this last one.

The biggest question on his mind was why the Under Sheriff hadn't shot him first. Did McKeen want him to live with that scene in his head, or had McKeen worried that he wouldn't have the time to kill himself before Brass broke in and shot him first? There were so many questions circling in Grissom's mind, so many unanswered why's. The questions were attacking his mind, inflicting untold discomfort on his precarious state.

It was so quiet. He looked down at the Under Sheriff's body, closing his eyes on seeing the Under Sheriff's disturbing smile. He rubbed at his temples, felt the blood on his face and hands, and reopened his eyes. When had he stood up? He didn't remember standing. He looked back down at McKeen, stared at the body draped backwards in the chair, head flopped back, brain matter visible near the exit wound. He wondered why there was nobody in the office yet. Why was he the only one witness to this? The silence seemed ubiquitous. Where was the noise on the other side of the door? Hadn't he heard voices earlier? Hadn't Brass been pounding and yelling? Why hadn't they broken in? Surely they had time. His mind had gone through so many thoughts since watching the Under Sheriff shoot himself, some time had to have passed. Yet, as he stood in the office, he knew that it had probably only been an instant.

He was rooted to his spot, staring down at the dead body in front of him, lost in his silent world and unaware of the activity going on around him. Gradually, as more people entered and crossed in front of him, he gained some awareness. He could make out figures in the room, could feel a hand on his arm, turning him, could see Brass mouth his name, but he still couldn't hear any sounds. It felt so unreal, so surreal, so dreamlike. He felt as though he was watching a silent movie. Officers were mouthing to each other, the Sheriff was shaking his head, Brass was leading him out, and a young cop was bolting by him, hand over his mouth. Then, he was in the hall, watching Brass's lips move, nodding, and trying to find his voice.

Catherine and Nick were there. When had they arrived? How long had he been standing in that hall? They were speaking to him, mouths moving in such a frenzy, he couldn't make out the words. He stared at them and they stared back. He studied their questioning glances. Nick spoke again and he found he could follow the movement of Nick's mouth. He raised his arms and allowed Nick to cut the shirt from off of him. Nick handed him a jacket and he nodded his thanks. He watched Nick bag the shirt and walk away and he felt a pang of remorse at putting them in that situation.

He stood staring down the hallway as Catherine began swabbing his face, then hands. Her hand rested on his cheek. Slowly, the haze faded and he began to hear. He looked up at her and saw tears running down her cheek. He placed his hand on hers and brought it down. "Catherine…"

"Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"What the hell were you thinking, going after him like that?"

"I wasn't."

"That's apparent."

"I just wanted his DNA."

"Well, you got it, all over your face and your cloths, the desk and the walls. You were lucky. He could have killed you. Don't ever pull a stunt like that again." He gave her an apologetic look. She rubbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm finished. You'll probably want to get cleaned up." He wanted to go home.

Brass intercepted him on the way out the door. "I think I know what happened, but I have to ask. I need your statement."

Grissom nodded and began to speak slowly, articulating each point. "I presented him with the warrant. He refused to comply with it. I told him what the evidence was telling us. He got angry and drew his gun. We exchanged works. He killed Warrick. I don't know if it was directly, but I confronted him and he admitted he was involved. Then, he shot himself." Brass nodded. He continued on. "I saw it coming, Jim. He became silent and I saw his thoughts. I saw it in his eyes. I knew what he was going to do."

"He made that decision. Don't even think about it."

Right, he thought. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He sighed. "Do you need anything else from me?"

"Not right now. You should go get cleaned up. There's blood spatter all over your face and neck. Do you want me to call Sara?"

"No, don't call her."

"Don't?"

"No. I'll talk to her when I get home."

"And when is that going to be?"

"Now." He took a deep breath. "I need to see her. I need to get home."

"How are you going to get there?"

"Drive."

"Your car's at the lab. We came in mine. Besides, you can't drive in that condition."

He looked up at Brass, pleading with the detective to let him be, but he couldn't summon up much of an argument. He was exhausted, and still feeling the shock.

"Get cleaned up and I'll give you a ride."

"Now, Jim. I just want to get home."

Brass nodded and they walked silently down the hall. Grissom climbed into the passenger seat and closed his eyes for the trip home. Brass pulled up in front of his apartment and killed the engine. "Gil, you scared the shit out of me. Don't ever do that again. I don't ever want to be in that situation again."

He nodded but didn't respond. He knew how hard that situation must have been on Brass, but he couldn't find the words to tell him. He opened the car door, feeling Brass's eyes on him. When he got out, he heard the car start and watched Brass drive away. He looked up at the apartment and took a deep breath, slowly making his way inside.

Sara was seated at the table, facing away from him when he entered. She didn't turn. She remained still, as though she hadn't heard him enter. He stared at her, searching for words but finding they were eluding him.

He gazed at her form for minutes, memorizing the way her left arm rested delicately on the table, the way her body slumped forward and her head hung down. He found himself looking for marks on her, confirmation of the Under Sheriff's words in the office, but found none and felt the overwhelming relief knowing that the Under Sheriff had been lying. The only marks on her were the angry bruises on her shoulder, given to her by him, proof that he'd let paranoia and fear control him.

He took a step forward, wanting to run his thumb over the bruises, wanting to see her face. Her voiced stopped him. "This was all about Warrick, wasn't it? This whole thing?"

He nodded, but she didn't turn to see it. "Yeah," he replied, softly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how." He took a step closer, hoping she would turn. She never.

"I would have understood."

"I know."

"Is it over?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, it's over. It's all over."

She turned and he could see the angry tears in her eyes. He reached out a hand and she swatted it away before it reached her face. He dropped his hand and his head, but not before her eyes found his face. She stopped dead and he stood, unmoving. She cupped his chin and lifted his head. "What happened?"

"The Under Sheriff shot himself this morning."

"No." She stared at him in disbelief. "Why?"

"He was responsible, Sara. He was behind it all."

He heard the breath catch in her throat before she swallowed. "Why did he kill himself?"

"He couldn't let go of his control. I think he felt that it was the only way he could hang on to it."

"And you saw it?"

He nodded.

She sighed and cupped his face. Her thumb ran soothing circles over the dried blood on his cheek. "Are you alright?"

He nodded again. She dropped her hand and he watched her walk away. She returned moments later and began to gently wipe his face with a warm wash cloth. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, as she slowly and delicately ran the cloth over his face and his neck. She took his fingers, tenderly wiping each one. "Do you want me to run you a bath?"

Did he want a bath? He wanted to lay down and hold her and let go of the grief he'd been carrying around over Warrick. He wanted her to sooth his tortured soul. "Not right now. I just want to go to bed."

She nodded and led him down the hall, pulling back the covers on the bed. He undressed and climbed in, pulling away the covers on the other side. He pulled the covers back up when she laid down beside him, running his hand over her arm. He felt her shiver. "We need to talk when you wake up."

"I know."

Her arm moved across his chest, and he held on, closing his eyes. As he drifted off, he felt her lips softly touch his temple. "I love you, Gil."


	29. Chapter 29

_One should always listen closely when people say goodbye, because sometimes they're they're really saying farewell._

_- Katharine Hepburn, __Stage Door_

Chapter 29

A soft breeze sweeping across her shoulder awoke her. She stretched and the sheets lying across her body inched further downward. Pulling the sheet back up, she turned to the center of the bed and frowned when she saw the other side had been vacated. She shook her head, wondering where he'd gone to and why he hadn't woken her. She'd only lain down to be with him while he fell, knowing he needed the rest. He'd been trembling in his sleep and she stayed, hoping her presence would help. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, though she was tired after tossing around all night thinking of him. She sighed, lying on her back, bending one knee up and wrapping her arms around her. One hand found its way to the opposite shoulder and she dropped her head down, resting her chin on her wrist. Her gaze found the wall and she stared at it, pursing her lips in thought. Finally she pulled back the sheets and climbed out of bed.

He was sitting on the far end of the sofa, absently stroking the dog's head when she found him. She stood, leaning against the wall, letting her eyes linger. He didn't notice her gaze. He seemed lost, staring into space, moving further and further away from her and she wondered if she would be able to reach him. Closing her eyes, she remembered the sight of blood on his face, his neck, his hands and she choked back a sob. It had been startling, terrifying to see that blood and know something happened. When he told her what happened, she was livid at him for putting himself in that position, but her worry won out the anger…for the time being anyways. He didn't need her anger at the moment. The trouble was that she wasn't sure what he needed.

Pushing herself off the wall, she walked over towards the sofa, taking a seat in the middle. She lifted her legs and faced him, one arm holding her knees to her chest. "Hey."

Somewhere in the recesses of his consciousness, she must have gotten through because he turned to face her. "Hi."

"What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you, so I came out here. I didn't think you'd wake up so soon."

She shrugged. "I felt your absence. It was cold."

He raised an eyebrow. "On an afternoon in Vegas in August?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah," he spoke softly, nodding, "I know."

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long, a half hour, maybe."

She took in his tired form, his eyes closing and opening, his absent pats to Hank's head, the flits of sadness that crossed his face. They needed to talk, but perhaps it could wait. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?" The shake of his head answered her question. "Coffee?"

"I haven't put any on. You'll have to make some."

She nodded and rose, padding into the kitchen and turning on the coffee. Pulling out two mugs from the cupboard, she set them on the counter and noticed a box sitting to the side. She sighed; she'd forgotten about it. Picking up the box, she held it in her hand and examined it. Placing it down next to the coffee mugs, she leaned back against the cupboard and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to settle her frayed nerves. She stayed that way for a few minutes before turning around and glancing at the coffee pot when the flavorful aroma filtered into her nose. She filled the two mugs and picked them up with one hand, the other hand holding the box. When she reentered the living room, Gil was still seated in the same position and still petting the dog. Everything was placed on the coffee table. Picking up and handing him one mug, she took the other in her own two hands and resumed her previous position, facing him on the sofa, knees to her chest. He nodded in thanks and she took a sip.

While the coffee was delectable and very much needed at the moment, it couldn't hold her attention. Her gaze remained on his unnoticing face as he sat, still looking beyond. The coffee in his hands remained unsipped and ignored. She sighed and took the cup from him, placing it back on the coffee table, next to the box. The box once again drew her attention. She took a deep breath and reached for it, picking it up and holding it. Her other hand reached for his and she was able to gain his attention by giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He looked from her to the box in her hands and she handed it to him. "What's this?"

"Your birthday present. I meant to give it to you on Sunday, but…"

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright; I understand." The words almost never made their way out. She cleared her throat and tried to perk up her voice. "Open it."

Her eyes were on his as he carefully removed the wrapping and opened the small box. His eyes lifted to hers. "Sara…" Her name sounded wistful on his lips. "It's beautiful. Thank you." Her gaze followed his hands as he lifted the object and turned it. "_e__x __scientia __vera__._ Where did you find this?"

"An antique store in San Francisco. I wasn't sure of what I was looking for, but when I saw it, I thought of you. The inscription was already on it."

"I see that."

"I wanted to add something to it, but I talked to an engraver and he was worried about damaging the metal. I didn't know who to go to, and…"

"The inscription is perfect."

Drifting closer, she peered over the box as he lifted the chain and pulled out the compass, dangling it before her eyes. He moved to set the box down on the coffee table but her hand stopped him. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the box. When his eyes found the note at the bottom, she turned her face away.

"_scientia __vincere __tenebras_?"

She felt his fingers turn her face back to his. "Sara?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped her face down. "My choice of inscription. It seemed like an appropriate sentiment for you."

"It is, very." He spoke gently, reassuringly. "Why did you turn away?"

"The timing of it all…the past few days…I wasn't sure, and god Gil, if I had known...if you had…what you must have been going through…" Tears were spilling from her eyes.

"God, Sara." The coffee in her hands was removed and she felt herself being pulled to him. "Sara…" Sara closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder. His warm breath whispered into her ear.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. She fingered the compass in his hands. "You're my compass. You've guided me through so much…so, so much."

She felt his chest rise and fall with his sigh. "Alright. Time to talk?" She nodded. "That sentiment, I needed it now more than ever. I need to have faith in that. These past few days…I haven't been myself…"

Sara watched as he struggled for words. He opened his mouth but the distant ringing of the house phone interrupted him. She waited for him to get up, but he didn't move. "You aren't going to get that?"

He shook his head. The ringing stopped and he opened his mouth to speak. "When Warrick died, I told myself…"

The phone sounded again. She watched him sigh. She stood up and brought back the portable, checking the display as she walked. "Jim. The last was from Catherine. Are you going to call them?"

"Later. Where was I?"

She sat down next to him, grasping his hand and speaking softly. "When Warrick died…"

"When Warrick died, I told myself that…"

The phone rang again. Sara smirked as he groaned, handing the phone to him. "Ecklie. You dodging his calls too?"

"If I didn't answer when Jim or Catherine phoned, what makes you think I'd answer when it's Ecklie?"

She smiled. "You never know."

"On the subject of dodging calls Sara, why didn't you return my call last night?"

"I must have been out with Hank when you called. When I came home, I went straight to bed and tried to sleep. I didn't see the call until I got up. I returned it this morning. It went straight to voice mail."

"You never called."

"Yes I did. Check your phone." As her words ended, the phone rang again, startling them both. "Gil, where's your phone? Why is everyone calling the house?"

He appeared confused, and then sighed. "McKeen's office, on his desk. I had to turn it off."

"What? Gil, what happened?" Suddenly, the extent of danger Gil had faced dawned on her. Her stomach knotted and she spoke lowly. "There's something you aren't telling me."

The phone kept ringing. She watched him glance down at the display. "It's the Sheriff. I'm sorry Sara, but I have to take this. They won't leave me alone if I don't."

She nodded and watched his back as he moved into the kitchen to take the call. From the distance, she could see his hand running through his hair. He returned a moment later. "I have to go into the lab. I just called a cab to take me there. We'll finish this later; I promise." He turned down the hall.

The door to the bedroom was wide open. She stood in the door and watched him dress. "Gil, if McKeen was responsible for everything, then why were you in his office with your cell turned off? You came home with splatter all over your face. You were right there. You said he killed himself. He had a gun and you were in his office with your cell off and close enough to get spatter all over you. He could have shot you instead. What were you thinking? Were you armed?"

"No, I wasn't. It was just him."

It was a punch in the gut. He could have been killed. She could have lost him, and why? "Then back to my other question, what were you thinking?"

"That seems to be the question of the day."

"Well, do you have an answer for it?"

"Sara, I have to go in. I'll tell you everything when I get back." He pulled on his socks and stood.

"I think I've got it pretty much figured out. I'm just waiting on the why."

"When I get back."

She watched him leave, followed him to the door and closed it behind him. Leaning back against the door, she hit her palm against it and pushed herself off. She moved to the sofa and sat down on the floor in front of it, cradling Hank's head in her arms. "What's been going on, boy?"

* * *

The lab was the quietest she'd remembered it being in months. Not since Warrick died had so many so sounds and voices disappeared. As she walked down the hall, lab techs avoided her gaze. Only David Hodges had the brass to approach her. "Catherine, is it true?"

"What are you still doing here?"

"I was taking my time going home, hoping my mother would be out when I got there so that she wouldn't give me a list of chores to do. If she left a note, I could always tell her I didn't see her. It's her weekly aquafit class, so I figured if I hung out here long enough, I'd miss her. I was just about to leave when I began to hear the rumors. Are they true?"

She shook her head at his pathos. "Grow up Hodges."

"Ecklie and the Sheriff are with two men in the conference room, very hush, hush. I'm smelling IA."

"I'm looking at AI."

"Your sense of humor delights me, Catherine."

"What do you want, David?"

"Is the Under Sheriff really dead? I went to the morgue to see for myself but Doc Robbins kicked me out."

"I'm sure you'll hear soon enough."

"You have to know something."

"Hodges, I'm about this close," she held up her hand and left an inch of space between her thumb and index finger, "to getting really teed off. Stop asking questions. When you need to know, you'll hear something."

"I wonder who would do such a thing to the Under Sheriff."

"Can it."

Wendy came out of her lab and ushered Hodges into his, slapping him on the shoulder. Catherine smirked. She ignored the puzzlement on his face and stalked off down the hall towards the conference room.

Catherine sat down at the conference table, glancing at the faces around her. The Sheriff and Ecklie both stood with solemn expressions. Jim was leaning against wall with a coffee mug in hand, sipping his coffee without expression. Greg sat at the table appearing overwhelmed. Next to him, Nick sat looking tired and weary, angry and barely in control. Two other men in suits sat across the table with very serious expressions on their faces. One of the men turned his face to hers. "Catherine Willows?" She nodded. "Please have a seat."

She sat down next to Greg and stared up at Ecklie and the Sheriff. Ecklie sat down across from her. "We're just waiting on Grissom."

"I spoke to him. He'll be here soon."

She glanced up at the Sheriff, surprised. She'd tried calling Grissom and she knew Jim had as well. How had the Sheriff able to get through when they hadn't? Just then, Grissom entered the room and took a seat next to Ecklie. The Sheriff nodded, closing the door and seating himself on the far end of the table. "Now that everybody is here, we'll begin. First off, let me introduce these two men. This is Eric Clayton," the Sheriff indicated the man immediately to his right, "and this is John Morris," he spoke indicating the other man. "They're from internal affairs."

Crap, she thought, Hodges had been right. If they were from IA, that only meant one thing: they were hijacking the case. Catherine gave a tight smile to the men and leaned back into her chair.

"You'll be handing over the case to them. Now, I know some of you might be upset by this decision…" Catherine glared at the Sheriff. He had no idea. "But Jeff McKeen was a man of many connections. We already know he had one beat cop under him. If there is a web within the police force, it's up to IA to find it."

Catherine sighed. She looked across at Grissom, who didn't seem surprised or upset in the least. Glancing to her right, she looked across Greg, who was nodding, to Nick who looked as livid as she was. "With all due respect Sheriff, we've been working this case. We know this case. You can't just expect us to pass everything on and forget about it. This case is important to us."

"I understand that and I don't expect anything of the sort. We need you to work with IA. Pass on all the information; walk them through everything you have come across in your investigation. You'll probably have to go through it all again when the new Sheriff steps in. Now, because of Grissom's presence in McKeen's office when he killed himself, Grissom won't be involved in the rest of the investigation. Grissom, you'll give your statement and be available for questions."

Shock couldn't describe her feelings as she looked across at Grissom and watched him nod in acceptance. Her mouth dropped open. How was he alright with this? It was his case, what he'd been killing himself over.

"Catherine?"

"Hmm?" She glanced over at Ecklie.

"Choose one person to work with you on this. You can't have them both. We'll need the other to carry on with Grave."

"Alright." It pained her to have to choose. Her past experience with choosing hadn't turned out very well. Someone was always upset with her and she could never win. Knowing how important this was to the team, she knew whatever choice she made, she wouldn't be able to placate the person left out. Greg would probably be more forgiving, but Nick had been so out of it lately, questioning himself and diving head first into shallow water. She looked to her right again and studied Nick. He looked so tired and distressed and angry and she didn't know how long he could continue to deal with it all. She bit her lip, knowing Nick wouldn't like her decision. "Greg."

"Cath, take Nick."

Her eyebrows rose as she shot her glance to Grissom.

"Gil, this is Catherine's decision."

"Hold on, Conrad," the Sheriff piped in. "Grissom, is there a reason you're questioning Willow's decision?"

She glanced between the three men before landing her gaze on Grissom. He looked across at her with soft eyes. "No, I'm not questioning it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her decision. I know where it comes from, but Catherine, it's alright; Nick can do this."

"I know."

"You'll be right there with him."

She nodded, looking to Nick and seeing the pleading in his eyes. She faltered, knowing it was something Nick needed. "Alright. Sorry, Greg. I'll take Nick."

Greg nodded. She shifted her gaze to Grissom and he was nodding as well.

"Alright, it's settled then. Grissom, IA will start with your statement. We'll take this somewhere more private. Brass and Willows will both be present. Do you want anyone else?"

She watched Grissom shake his head. She stood up and waited for him at the door. "How are you alright with this?"

"It was the right decision, Catherine. You and Nick can handle this; I have every faith."

She smiled, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. "You'll be alright, Gil. Of that, I have every faith." She took a quick breath and tried to speak her next words with levity. "Now, let's go take your statement."

* * *

Brass knocked quietly, and entered the dark office. Papers strewn over the desk were pushed aside accommodating Grissom's elbows. It had been a long morning of questioning and he knew that the questions had left Grissom tired, agitated and on a short fuse. Brass was thankful that Ecklie arranged for some members of swing to cover Grissom's shift that night. He took in Grissom's form, eyes closed, resting his head in his palms. He spoke lightly. "I come bearing cell phone. Yours is with IA, so the department issued a new one. The Sheriff asked me to drop it off. We all have your new number."

"Thanks."

"I was surprised to find you here, thought you'd be at home."

"I'm heading there."

Moving into the office, he sat on a chair and hedged before speaking. "The Sheriff tells me this cell is temporary, said something about you resigning this afternoon."

Grissom looked up. "I told Ecklie I'd stay on until things were settled down around here. Two months ago I decided that I'd leave after finding out who was behind Warrick's death. Now it looks like I'll be here a little longer."

"Then what? You going to take that girl of yours away from all this?" He indicated the office, smirking and hoping to lighten the mood a little. Grissom just sighed.

"I don't know. I think I need to get away alone for awhile."

"Something happen between you and Sara? Don't tell me that after all this, you've gone and lost her."

"No. I just need to get away. I keep hearing McKeen threaten Sara over and over again. It doesn't stop. And I look at Sara and know that she's alright, and that the only one hurting her is me. McKeen made me paranoid. I let him manipulate my emotions until I hurt her. I gave her the only bruises she has on her. I scared her. She'd tense and anxious and on edge because of me. I became obsessed. I phoned her to make sure she was alright and scared her every time I hung up upon realizing I was being paranoid."

"But it's all over now."

He watched Grissom carefully and was astonished by Grissom's candid response. "It's not. Not until I can silence his voice. I gave the unknown a face and it's been haunting me. This morning I woke up to a nightmare and heard Sara whimpering in her sleep. I was clutching her too hard. My fingers were pressed into her arm. When I let go, she relaxed. I don't know if she was awake or not, but it scares me to think that she might have been and was letting it go because of what she thinks I've gone through or that she didn't say anything because she didn't know how to. I moved to the edge of the bed after that, but I woke up again later, pounding my fist on the pillow. It came down right next to her head. I left the bed after that."

"It'll get better."

"Until it does, I need some time alone."

Brass wanted to argue but he knew Grissom's fears ran deep, and if Grissom came close to accidentally hurting Sara in his sleep, then Grissom could be right and there wasn't much of an argument he could offer. "Well, you know best. Need a lift home?"

"No, I drove Sara's Prius in. I will need a ride in tomorrow. My car's still here."

"I'll drop by and pick you up."

"Thanks, Jim."

He nodded. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah, later." He walked with Grissom to the door and watched as Grissom paused a moment. "Goodbye Jim."

* * *

Returning home to find Sara placing items in a duffle bag was as heartbreaking as coming home to find her staring off with her back to him. He approached her slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Packing."

It was what he wanted, some time to figure things out for himself. Still, watching her frantic movements frightened him. He could see her shaking as she threw item after item into her bag. "Sara, wait."

Sara turned and faced him, dropping her bag to the floor. "Look, this trip isn't what I had planned. Things have been crazy and I don't blame you, but I've had some time to think, a lot of time to think, and I think that maybe I need to get away and let you deal with all this. See, I know I'm ready to move on. I've dealt with my ghosts, but I have feeling you have some of your own to deal with right now, and as much as I want to, I don't think I can stay and help you deal with them and I don't think you want me to."

"I don't." He grimaced at his own words, but to his relief, Sara only nodded. He paused briefly. "I handed Ecklie and the Sheriff my resignation today. I'm going to stay on until they get things settled, then I'm going to head back out east for awhile. I don't know how long I'll be out there. Are you going back to San Francisco?"

"Only long enough to pack up my apartment. It's time to move on."

"Move on?" Sara nodded. He stepped closer to her. "Sara, we'll get through this."

"Maybe, but the thing is I'm tired of getting through it. I'm tired of enduring. All I've ever done is endure. My whole life has been one extremely long ultra marathon test of endurance. I need more."

"I need time."

"I get that, I really do. Take the time. When you are finished, if you can find your way back to me, I'll be there. Until then, I have to let you go." He heard her voice crack. "I'm sorry, but I can't live my life in an intense constant state of longing anymore. It's too hard."

He nodded, his heart breaking, though he knew it was the only way. He had to go off and conquer his darkness and he had to let her go. The long distance, the ever-present longing they both felt, only caused them to suffer. "I'll help you pack."

"I'm finished." She pulled a book from his bookshelf and tossed it on the bag. He picked it up and held it in his hands.

"_Sons and Lovers_?"

"Yeah, is it okay if I take that?"

"It's yours. Why _Sons and Lovers_?"

"I don't know, sometimes I think we're like Paul and Miriam, two people in love but who can't get past things enough to ever be together. She was so tragically in love with Paul, tormented by it. I guess I kind of understand her."

He cupped her cheek with his free hand and shook his head. "You could never be Miriam." She shrugged. He dropped his hand from her cheek and averted his gaze, fearing her answer to his next question. "Sara, have you ever suffered through your love for me?"

"No…" He lifted his gaze to hers and she continued on. "Before, yes, but not once I had you. The time we spent together was the only time I remember not suffering."

He placed the book onto the bag and stood up. "I love you."

"I know."

"When are you leaving?"

"In the morning. I didn't want to leave without talking things out with you."

"I appreciate that." He tried to stifle an involuntary yawn but it escaped his lips.

"Tired?"

"Very." He grasped her hand, tugging her to the sofa and pulling her down to the edge. He sat, holding onto her hand and closing his eyes. "Quick nap before I take you to dinner."

"You're taking me to dinner?"

"Hmm, yeah." He scooted down on the sofa, lying while she still sat perched on the edge.

"This is a first."

"You don't want to?"

"No, I'm just surprised."

He felt her lay down next to him and fears of hurting her led him to protest. "Sara…"

"Go to sleep Gilbert."

He did; holding onto her and gently stroking her back, he let himself drift off.

**A/N: **_ex scientia vera : _from knowledge, truth

_scientia vincere tenebras :_ conquering darkness by science


	30. Chapter 30

_In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer._

_- Albert Camus_

Chapter 30

Nick headed into PD early in the morning. Despite only getting a few hours of sleep, he felt well rested and ready for the day. It was the first peaceful sleep he'd had since Warrick had died. It'd seemed odd heading home from work the night before and starting his day in the next morning, when he was so used to working the grave, but he'd be working with IA over the next week or so and quickly decided he'd better get used to their hours. And, he didn't mind. Really, he couldn't wait to get to PD and get to work.

He felt very little relief over McKeen's death. The Under Sheriff's suicide robbed Nick of something. If he thought about it, he'd say it mostly robbed him of his sense of justice. McKeen got to choose his death; he got to take control and end his life on his own terms. Warrick never had that choice and Nick felt the injustice of it deep in his heart. He'd wanted to take the Under Sheriff down, to see the look in McKeen's eyes when it was over. He wasn't a vengeful man, but god, it would have felt great to take everything away from Jeffrey McKeen and see him suffer the way they all had. He knew the thoughts weren't productive and wouldn't solve anything. He had to put them away, move past them and move on. There was still work to do and Nick hoped that by helping IA, he would gain some of the closure he sought.

The minor relief he did feel mixed with a pang of sorrow as he realized the cost of bringing the Under Sheriff to justice. They'd lost a coworker, a binding force, a friend. What Warrick had started, had cost him his life. But, Warrick had been right and even though it had taken months, they'd finished it for him. Slowly they'd weed out any other auspicious connections the Under Sheriff had and they'd clean up the department. And, he got to help. Words couldn't describe his gratitude towards Grissom when Grissom spoke up and asked Catherine to choose him. The support Grissom had offered went a long way to mend things, including his anger and his shattered confidence. As Nick walked through the doors of PD, he felt something in him that had been missing for awhile. It was a renewal.

* * *

Warm and well rested, she looked towards the window and noticed faint rays of light peeking through the cracks in the blinds. Slowly climbing out of bed, she made her way over to the window and, as quietly as she could, partially opened the blinds so that enough light could filter in and illuminate the room without blinding its occupants. Looking back towards the bed, she watched Gil sleep, his chest rising and falling gently. He was so beautiful. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand hovering over his forehead as she debated whether or not to run her hands through his hair. When his face contorted into agony, she climbed back into the bed and began to softly stroke his cheek. He let out a pained, "Sara," and she shook him gently, whispering into his ear. "Gil, it's okay, sshhh, it's alright. I'm here."

His bolt into an upright position shocked her more than the nightmare. He'd had a couple nightmares throughout the night, and each time she'd managed to sooth him back into sleep. Now, he was sitting upright and sweating and staring at her with a look of terror. She moved closer, wrapping her legs around him and holding him. "It's alright. It was just a nightmare."

"Did I hurt you?"

Her eyes widened at the question, wondering at the thoughts haunting his brain. He was the gentlest man she'd ever known. She gazed at him. His chin was tilted down and his eyes were on the hand lightly rubbing her leg up and down. She bent forward and met his eyes. The look on his face told her his question was serious. Her forehead fell onto his shoulder. "No, no you didn't hurt me."

He sighed and she untangled herself, easing him back down onto the bed. She curled up next to him, running her hand up and down his chest. His eyes closed again and she allowed herself to watch him, knowing these few moments in bed would have to last her. She traced his face, thinking back to the night before, the quiet dinner, the intimate gazes, the slow and gentle lovemaking, the way he'd treated her with absolute reverence and made her feel adored, the soft strokes along her body as they drifted off into slumber together.

Tears began to build and as if he could sense them, Gil opened his eyes. She stared into the blue, trying to ward off the tears and gave him a soft smile. He sat up. "Sara?"

"It's nothing. I'm just thinking about how hard it will be to say goodbye."

He nodded. "What time does your plane leave?"

"9:50."

"What time is it now?"

"Just after 7:00."

"You don't have much time. Maybe we should get up."

"I'm trying to delay the inevitable." He chuckled and her smile widened.

"I'll make us some breakfast." He left her in the bed. She pulled her knees to her chest and watched him walk out of the room, before gathering herself and stepping into the bathroom to shower.

The meal was spent in silence. She kept glancing up at him and catching his eyes on her. Afraid words would break her, she kept quiet and played with her food, finding it hard to eat. Gradually the food made it past her fork and when the meal was almost finished, she heard him speak. "We should leave for the airport soon."

Sara glanced up from the crumbs on her plate. "I'm going to take a cab."

"There's no need. We can take the Prius to the airport."

"I'd rather say goodbye here. It'll be too hard at the airport. Besides, Jim is coming here to pick you up and I'm sure he'd appreciate you being here when he arrives."

"I can call Jim and tell him not to bother."

"No, don't. I called the cab before breakfast. It'll be here soon." By happenstance, the cab pulled up at that moment. Sara heard the honk and took a deep breath. "I think it's here."

Standing, she moved into the living room and grabbed her bags before walking over to the door. He opened the door for her and she stared at the cab before turning back to Gil. His hand lifted and he brought it to the back of her head; his fingers laced through her hair. She felt the other hand land softly on her shoulder and she leaned forward to rest her forehead on his. Dropping her bags, she lifted her hands to grasp his shirt and they stood in the doorway foreheads pressed together, eyes locked and lost in one another, breathing softly for minutes. Their tender moment was interrupted by another honk. Her head popped up and she felt the press of Gil's lips to her forehead. She heard his voice catch. "Time to go."

She stared into his eyes, finding the breath taken from her and she wanted to hold his gaze forever. She thought about their approaching separation and wondered if this feeling is what Camus meant when he wrote the words, "_Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time." _It was how she felt, wishing the moment could have lasted and knowing that they'd soon be apart. Nodding, she embraced him and pressed her lips to his in one last lingering kiss. "Bye."

Sara left him in the doorway and climbed into the cab, looking back to see him sitting on the steps and watching her leave. She gave him a smile, not entirely sad, but certainly wistful and she waved her hand, mouthing the words, "I'll see you soon," out the window.

* * *

Catherine watched as the men from Internal Affairs glanced at their watches. It was a motion they'd both been repeating for the past half hour or so. She looked to Nick and rolled her eyes before turning back to the men. "Do you want to break for lunch?"

"Lunch, yeah, that would be great. Meet back in say, an hour?"

"Sure."

The men left her and Nick in the layout room with the evidence. They packed it into the boxes and she turned to him. "Lunch?"

"Actually, I'm going to pass this time."

She glanced at him with a certain amount of skepticism. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm going to head over to the diner and see if Jessica is getting off and hopefully catch a bite with her. Next time though."

"Alright, I'll hold you to that." She smiled and handed him a box of evidence to log in. "While you're heading that way…"

He laughed and it sounded so good to her ears, she laughed with him. Grissom had been right; Nicky was good and more than able to handle everything. It wasn't Nick she was worried about anymore; it was Grissom. Despite his calm the day before, she knew things weren't well with him. A conversation with Brass earlier that day only served to heighten her worry. She followed Nick out of the room and turned towards Grissom's office, not surprised to find him in it.

Catherine knocked and entered without waiting for a response. Grissom was seated and going through a case file. She glanced at the folder, but didn't recognize the information in it. "Checking old files?"

"No, it's a case file from Riley."

"I see." She sat down across from him, crossing one leg over the other.

"Shouldn't you be with IA?"

"They broke for lunch. Apparently they work banker's hours."

"That's comforting."

Catherine snorted. "Yeah, real comforting."

"How's it going with them?"

"Good. It feels like we're prepping the DA for a case. Anyways we should be done by the end of the week." She paused, glancing at Grissom and taking a deep breath. "Jim says you're resigning."

"I am. When things settle down and get back to a degree of normalcy, I'll be leaving."

Apparently that was all he was willing to offer her. A huff that morphed into a sigh escaped from her lips. She stared at Grissom, but his head was back into the file. She tried to prod. "So…"

"So?"

God he could be so infuriating. Catherine stood up and glared at him, not able to hide the hurt. "So, thanks for letting me know. Have a nice life and everything."

Grissom glanced up at her and sighed. "Catherine…Jim shouldn't have said anything. I was going to tell you, but I wanted to wait until this was all resolved. I didn't want to add this onto your pile of things to deal with. Since Jim couldn't keep his mouth shut, I might as well tell you, I've already spoken to the Sheriff and to Ecklie. The supervisor position is yours when I leave."

She sat back down and tried to process the information, and decided she wasn't entirely surprised. He'd been under so much pressure and had shown the signs of wanting to escape it all even before Daniel Pritchard's body had been found in Lake Mead. What did surprise her was the readiness in which he'd volunteered the information. She nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"I was thinking about heading out east again for awhile."

"What does Sara think about that?"

"It's a journey I'll be making on my own."

She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Gil…"

"It's alright Catherine. We've both decided I need some time to clear my head of everything. She had her time and I need mine."

"So this journey, it's a journey to rediscover yourself?"

"No, I don't know if you can ever 'rediscover' yourself when the self is ever changing. I just want to rediscover the beauty in life."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "You'll find it again." Standing, she moved to the door. "I guess I should get back to work."

"Cath?"

"Yeah?"

"You have the grace and understanding to be an amazing leader."

Granting him a parting soft smile, she exited Grissom's office. She questioned where he was at, but he seemed so sure and that was enough to ease her mind. She smiled again, this time to herself, and her grin grew as she walked down the hall. Grissom was leaving and she was happy for him. He deserved to go off and find peace. They'd get along with out him. So many things had changed, but they were doing all right. For the first time in a long time, despite the events of the previous day, she felt they were all going to be okay. She had a measure of closure, she still had Nick…and Greg, an extended family she cared about and who would help and had been helping each other get through the darkest period in their collective lives, she was about to run the shift and, and she had the support and confidence of a great friend. Their lives may have been tampered by darkness, but things were moving towards good.

* * *

Gerald Naismith entered his office without knocking. It was something he could expect of Brass or of Catherine, or even of Ecklie, but for a complete stranger to ignore the customary proprieties and barge into his office demonstrated a level of disrespect Grissom did not at all care for. The way Detective Gerald Naismith approached his desk and wordlessly demanded his attention didn't help his opinion of the man. Brass may have called Naismith a weak candidate, but the man who would be Sheriff certainly had the arrogance of a politician. Grissom rolled his eyes and looked up at the large man towering over him.

"Gil Grissom, Gerald Naismith, pleased to meet you." Naismith offered Grissom his hand. Grissom glanced at it before reaching up and half heartedly shaking it.

"Look, you look like a direct man. I'm a direct man, so I'll cut to the chase. You solved the Daniel Pritchard case and kept a dangerous and powerful man from becoming Sheriff…"

"My team solved the case."

"Never-the-less, you helped to bring down a bad man," Grissom winced at Naismith's words, his mind still reliving McKeen's suicide, but Naismith carried on in a tone that exhibited the complete lack of awareness over his words effect of Grissom, "and I'm grateful. I know I was a long shot, but you proved that the strong can be toppled. You're a man of action. Word is you're a genius to boot. I think you're someone I'd like on my team. I'd like to appoint you as my Under Sheriff, and I'd like to make an announcement at my 2:00 press conference."

Grissom swallowed and looked up at Naismith. The detective certainly was a direct man, and he could see that straightforward manner causing the detective a few problems once he becomes Sheriff. Under Sheriff? Turning down McKeen's bribe certainly led to bigger, more unexpected offers. He shook his head at both the irony and ridiculousness of the offer. Pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, he turned his eyes back to the work on his desk. "I'm not interested."

"You're not?" Naismith seemed shocked. Grissom only nodded. "You don't want the Under Sheriff's position?"

"No."

He heard the sigh pass Naismith's lips and felt Naismith studying him. Another sigh and then, "I'd still like you to attend my press conference. I will be addressing all this business with Jeff McKeen."

"No." No because he hated politics and press conferences full of glam that sensationalized everything and never really provided real answers for the public. No because Naismith's earlier egocentrism was still fresh in his mind. No because he didn't appreciate this brash detective's attempts to piggy back on his name or exploit the nightmarish, tragic circumstances he'd found himself in the morning before.

"You'd be providing insight the public needs."

"I'm sure you and the incumbent Sheriff will manage to handle the press conference without me."

He would not bend and he hoped Naismith was a good enough detective to detect it. Surely Naismith had also heard of his lack of patience when dealing with politicos. He ignored the look on Naismith's face and concentrated on the files in front of him, relieved when Naismith finally left him be.

An hour later Grissom found himself in the break room watching the press conference with Greg, Catherine and Brass. Naismith stepped up to the podium and all idle conversation stopped.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, before we begin, I'd like to tell a story. This story is about a group of amazing young children who selflessly and tirelessly worked to earn money for an unfortunate group of people, people from another nation who'd suffered a disaster. It didn't matter to these children that Costa Rica was another country, or that it didn't have any connection to any of them, that the disaster didn't affect them. They saw people in need and they used whatever resources they could find to help those people. _

"_Now, in these times of disillusionment, these are the people that society should raise up. They are an example of the good and the honest, the sincere and the unselfish, and how were these virtues rewarded? They were to be rewarded by a trip to Costa Rica where they'd visit the town they'd raised money for and dive in the splendid waters off the Costa Rican coast. But, that wasn't how these exceptional children were rewarded. No, instead of a diving lesson twelve days ago, the children learned another lesson, a lesson they shouldn't have had to learn at their young ages. They learned how harsh life could be. While learning to dive, they discovered a dead body. Children, good, innocent children were rewarded with the discovery of a ghastly corpse. In an instance, they lost their innocence. They had been robbed of it by one gruesome act. _

"_But, for us, for this county, their innocence became a heroic sacrifice. From their discovery, we were able to make some discoveries of our own. We discovered the man hidden beneath an Under Sheriff's exterior. From the work of one of the countries finest crime labs, we came to see the man who was close to becoming the next Sheriff for who he was. And, it was almost too late. The tragedy of this is not only that the children had to discover the body, but also that if they hadn't, a dangerous man could be free to impose his will on the county._

"_I will get back to Under Sheriff McKeen later because this story, right now, is really about the children, whose sacrifice is probably not understood by them. Too young to understand our gratuity, they are spending their time trying to make sense of it all. This is why I believe we should show them our gratuity. What their sacrifice did for us should be rewarded in a tangible way. Their cause was great and today I'm asking us to acknowledge it. Today I'm asking for us to not only support their cause and donate to it, but to make up the difference in the cost of the trip and pay for it…"_

"What do you know; he's a politician after all." Eyes shot to Brass and Grissom could only think that he'd come to that conclusion only an hour earlier.

They watched as Naismith continued to speak, now starting in on the Under Sheriff. The camera panned and they began to see shots of the reporters as Naismith spoke of justice. Watching the camera focus on Naismith's face, he Grissom couldn't help but think about his impressions of the detective. "Willie Stark."

"Who?" Catherine asked.

"Willie Stark, from _All the King's Men._ He was a politician who starts out as innocent and idealistic, and is a long shot to win election, but the political process changes him and he loses all the virtues that he spouted forth and that held his appeal."

"Oh, I've seen that movie. Sean Penn, right?"

He shook his head at Catherine. "Actually it was a book based on Huey Long, written by Robert Penn Warren. Then, it became a movie staring Broderick Crawford in the late 40's. The Sean Penn version is a remake of the classic." He paused and glanced around at the rooms occupants. "Anyways, I was just thinking that Naismith reminds me of Willie Stark. He's certainly learning the game of politics fast."

"Corrupt?"

"Not that I know of, not yet, but the process and conditions for that evolution are there." Grissom sighed. "Who knows though? Maybe Jeff McKeen was a young Willie Stark before. He certainly ended up an old one."

He quieted and left the rest of his musings to himself. Looking around he watched eyes scan the room before all turning back to the TV. The camera continued to pan slowly and they saw more of the crowd. One man's presence stopped them all.

"Hey, that's Vinny DeRosa in the corner." Leave it to Greg to audible their thoughts. Grissom looked to Catherine who returned the look with a questioning, shocked one of her own. Greg's voice broke their stare. "What's he doing at Naismith's press conference?"

"Catherine?"

"You've got me."

"Vince DeRosa led us to the safety deposit box. A tight lipped man rolled pretty easy if you ask me."

Grissom shot Brass a look before turning back to Catherine and watching her as she tried to process. The sounds of quick paced steps brought his eyes to the door. Nick popped halfway in, his hand holding the doorframe as he leaned into the room. "Hey Cath, you know how Grissom, sorry Griss, told you to ignore the payments to the contracting company?"

"Yes. McKeen was in the process of renovating."

"Yeah, well, the contractor who owns Red Rock Contracting is Brian Orr."

"The name on the safety deposit box."

"Yeah."

"Could he be involved?"

"I don't think so. He seemed very confused by it all. The confusion looked genuine." All eyes fell on Brass before they glanced at all the others again.

"Coincidence?"

"Or opportunity, maybe. Pritchard could have lifted his information while out at McKeen's property. He did say that Pritchard looked vaguely familiar."

"What if Pritchard didn't decide to come back on his own? What if he was lured back?"

"Someone knew something."

Thoughts and ideas were flying around the room. Catherine and Nick were off and running, Brass trailing behind them. Grissom followed Catherine and Brass out the door and watched as they moved down the hall. It was their show. He looked back to the TV and to Naismith. _Willie Stark._

He left Greg to the television and Catherine and Nick to their work, glancing in on them and the agents from IA as he walked by the layout room on the way to his office. Sitting behind his desk, he processed the recent information and let the thoughts go, knowing Catherine and Nick would find all the necessary connections. It was freeing to let go of it all, and that was how he felt…free.

Things were changing. The summer had been one long winter, but time was passing, and with it, so was that feeling of winter that had been consuming them. His internal analogy brought to mind another film, _Being There_. He thought of the Peter Sellers character's naïve and simplistic, yet beautiful view of the world. Winter comes and passes and makes way for spring. They had to weather the winter. He thought of the nurturing that was required to help life move on once winter had passed. It was a long winter, but it would pass. It was passing. In the end, he had been there for his team. They had turned to him and looked to his leadership whilst he helped begin to banish the demons that scarred them all. It wasn't over. There were still things to work through, phantoms to quiet, but he'd seen them through the harshest winter months and he knew they'd nurture each other through spring.

Things would bloom again. Things were already blooming. He understood that he wouldn't be around when his team reached their spring or their summer, but he knew they would. He knew because he believed he would. Sure they'd all changed, he'd changed, he'd mutated, evolve into something different than he'd been before and none of them would ever regain what they lost, but that was okay. It was okay because while they'll never be what they once were, he believed they'd all evolve into something just as beautiful.

…is the end

* * *

**A/N: **can't compare with CBS's version, but there it was.


	31. Epilogue

_I came back from those holiest waters new,  
__remade, reborn, like a sun-wakened tree  
__that spreads new foliage to the Spring dew_

_in sweetest freshness, healed of Winter's scars;  
__perfect, pure, and ready for the Stars._

_- Dante Alighieri_

Epilogue

_Las Vegas, March, 2009_

Standing outside the doors of the Peppermill, he paused briefly and let himself absorb the moment. There was a slight breeze accompanying the sun and while the weather was unseasonably cool for Vegas, it was a far cry from the cold, snowy atmosphere he'd left in New Hampshire. The sun's rays found the back of his neck, heating the breeze before it passed through him. Warmth spread over him and he knew it wasn't only from the weather.

He chastised himself for stalling, but he wasn't good at this sort of thing. There was a certain kind of attention that always accompanied reunions, and he was never comfortable with that brand of attention. He'd wanted to sneak into Vegas quietly, finish off the organizing his possessions in storage and in the condo, work at the tasks that needed accomplishing before he moved on again, and maybe drop-in on a few people individually. Leave it to Catherine to rope him into breakfast. He would have resisted too, but this breakfast wasn't about him or his being in town for a couple of days. The breakfast was about Nick and Nick's promotion, and it was only kismet that Grissom was even in town when it occurred. There was no way he could miss the breakfast, even if he had to live through some obvious discomfort.

Opening the doors to the Peppermill, he glanced around looking for a familiar face. Walking further in, his eyes moved over the crowds until they landed on Catherine and Nick seated at a large table. Catherine looked up and smiled softly at him before looking back to Nick, and he noticed her face turned impassive when she looked down. Nick didn't know he was coming. He grinned and chuckled softly before walking slowly towards them, noticing as Catherine's eyes glanced up and met his every few seconds. Nick must have noticed too. Nick's head turned at Grissom smiled sheepishly, before letting his mouth twist into a half grin at the surprised expression on Nick's face. "Grissom."

"Hey Nick." He moved to slide in next to Nick, but stopped when he saw Catherine shake her head. Instead, he slid in to her left, letting his arm rest on the booth seat behind her. He gave her a smile and turned back to Nick. "I hear congratulations are in order. Ecklie made you a supervisor?"

Nick's face was a priceless mix of astonishment and pleasure. It took a moment for the words to come out. "An assistant supervisor. It's really just a title Catherine talked Ecklie into giving me."

"It's not a title, Nick. You deserve it and the pay raise that accompanies it."

Grissom smiled at Catherine and looked back to Nick. "Listen to Catherine. She knows, and I'm sure she'll expect a lot of assistance."

"As long as she doesn't pawn off all of her paperwork on me, like you did on her, we'll be alright."

His mouth opened in shock, but he knew the statement was accurate. It was hard to suppress a chuckle, but he managed to feign some indignation. When Catherine and Nick both laughed aloud, he dropped the look and laughed along with them. "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. I don't doubt that Catherine is much better organized in that department."

"You know she is."

He smiled again and turned his coffee cup over so that a passing waitress could fill it. He took a sip and set the cup down, feeling Nick's eyes on him.

"So, you're back. Catherine said you were in New Hampshire. How was it?"

"It was good, a nice change."

"You look well rested."

"I am. Being snowbound tends to help with that."

"Yeah, I'll bet. You know, we had snow here too. Do you realize that if you had left a week later, you might not have flown out? They had to close McCarran a couple of days."

"It was a strange year for weather."

Nick let out a chuckle in agreement and Grissom found himself smiling again. The table grew into a comfortable silence for a few moments as Grissom took pleasure in the company of two old friends. The quiet was interrupted by a ruckus at the front entrance. Grissom watched as Nick rolled his eyes and Greg and Riley entered the building loudly. They were bantering back and forth, not paying much attention to anything else around them. Grissom looked on in amusement as Greg finally turned in their direction and stopped dead in his tracks. "Grissom?"

He nodded his head. "Greg, Riley,"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm having breakfast."

Greg just looked at him, bewildered. He watched Riley roll her eyes and slide in next to him, causing Catherine and him to shuffle down in the booth. "Greg, sit down."

Greg sat next to Riley and looked past her, continuing to stare at him while the others laughed. "What are you doing back?"

"I had some things to take care of in Vegas."

"How long are you here?"

"I fly out again this evening."

"How did you know we'd be here?"

"Catherine."

Greg turned to Catherine. "You knew and you didn't say anything?"

Catherine remained tight lipped and smiling. The waitress came by and dropped off menus. Greg's hand shot out and grabbed one. "Hungry Greg?"

Riley turned to Catherine and made a cutting motion across her throat. "Don't start. He's been whining about it since we left the lab."

"I wasn't whining. I was wondering what was taking you so long to get going."

"Me? It took me all of two seconds to drop that evidence off with Wendy. I was waiting for you. You're the one who took forever to shower."

"I had to. I was the one crawling around in that dumpster while you just stood and looked on. I outrank you. It should have been you in the dumpster."

Riley shrugged and Nick grinned. "What were you doing in the dumpster, Greg?"

"She conned me into it."

"I didn't con you. You lost the coin toss fair and square."

"You flipped for it?"

"She asked to flip for it and I wasn't thinking. She preyed on my trusting nature."

"Oh my God, Greg, give it up already."

"You outrank her. You don't flip for it;" Nick grinned wickedly, "you say woman, get into that dumpster and get working."

Grissom watched on in amusement as Catherine smacked Nick and he let out a small yelp. "Is that what you say to your girlfriend, Nick?" Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"No, but it was what I used to say to Sara when she first got here."

"Yeah right, Sara would have kicked your ass if you said anything like that to her. She only did those kinds of jobs because she didn't care and she was less squeamish than you."

Grissom smiled in agreement and Catherine winked at him. Greg laughed. "I bet he tried with Sara and she gave him one good. He wouldn't dare say those things to his girlfriend either."

"Of course not. I'm nothing but a gentleman to her."

"Where is the Polynesian beauty? Didn't you want her to come to the celebratory breakfast with us?"

"She should be here soon, Greg, and you better not think about hitting on her when she gets here. She has to work in a couple of hours, so she's driving herself and meeting us here, then heading straight to work from here. I came from the lab with Catherine…" Nick stopped and Grissom followed his eyes. A beautiful young woman in her early to mid thirties was walking towards them and Nick was beaming. "Here she comes now."

Grissom watched as Nick stood up and greeted the young lady. Nick turned her towards the table, resting his hand on the small of her back. "Griss, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Rayann Cooke. Rayann, this is Gil Grissom."

Grissom stood, leaning over the table and offered her his hand, giving it a gentle shake. She rewarded him with a soft smile. "It's a pleasure, Dr. Grissom. Nick speaks very highly of you."

"I think very highly of Nick."

Nick blushed and sat back down. The conversation and the bickering continued around him, as they ordered and ate their breakfast. Laughter flowed and he took great joy in being a part of it. His eyes would glance around the table to see Nick smiling radiantly, whispering into his girlfriend's ear, Greg and Riley continuing their banter, Catherine glowing as she spoke of Lindsay and SATs and if and where Lindsay was thinking about attending college. Through it all, they were telling anecdotes he both knew, and ones that were new to him, toasting Nick's promotion and giving Nick a hard time, teasing, laughing, living. The laughter rang beautifully in his ears.

Slowly, one by one, people filtered out. First it was Rayann. Grissom watched Nick walk Rayann to the door with a smile on his face. When Nick returned, Riley hugged Nick and congratulated him before leaving. Then, it was Greg, who shook both his and Nick's hand. Nick stayed longer, enjoying another coffee before he too, took his leave. Finally it was only Grissom and Catherine remaining. They sat silently and he thought back to what a great breakfast they'd had. Brass hadn't been able to make it, and he'd missed seeing his old friend, but still, it had been a good breakfast. It had been a long time since he'd seen his old team and even longer since he'd seen them so happy and at such peace. They were all doing so well and the thought made him smile. Catherine gave him a questioning glance, but he just shook his head and offered up another smile.

Catherine walked him out, her hand resting in his elbow, and gave him a hug, reminding him to keep in touch. He hailed a cab and as he climbed in, he gave Catherine one last wave. The cab rolled on through the streets, from the strip to his townhouse. As each familiar street passed, he said goodbye to his old life and prepared for his next one.

_Seattle, ten and a half hours later_

It was raining mercilessly when his plane touched down at Seattle Tacoma International Airport. He grabbed his bags and ran towards the nearest cab, climbing in out of the rain. He gave the driver the address that he'd come to memorize and looked leaned against the window, watching the rain beat against it.

The cab pulled onto a quiet street, absent of street light, and stopped in front of a small house, resembling something of a cottage in the wet night sky. Grissom stepped out and thanked the driver, tipping him generously. He grabbed his bags and closed the door, watching the cab drive off in the dark, onto its next fare. He turned around and glanced at the house. Dim flickering candlelight illuminated her silhouette through the window. He watched as she moved through the living room of her house, lighting more candles and he guessed that the power was out, explaining the absence of light in the street. Through the window, he watched as Sara curled up onto a chair, pulling a blanket over her body. Despite the low light and wet window between, he could see her shiver as she pulled the blanket over her. She turned on a flashlight and he smiled as she tried to read by its light.

He could have watched her forever, frozen in his spot, staring at what he believed was the most beautiful sight he could gaze upon. It had been too long since he saw her, since she left him in Vegas so that he could find the peace he needed. It had been far too long since they'd spoken, over a month since he'd called her. The last month, without communication had been difficult, but it was something that had been unavoidable as storms had cut the phone lines in his area and safe travel became impossible. He wondered if she'd known what he'd gone through, with the food supplies being trucked in and generators being the only source of power, but he doubted the news reached that far. Officials in Logan Airport, in Boston, hadn't even heard, proving that storms in rural New Hampshire didn't warrant anything more that local news coverage. He would have written her and sent the mail out with the trucks, but found himself lost for words when he tried to put pen to paper. How could he describe how he missed her?

People under umbrellas walked briskly by, eyeing him suspiciously, and he realized that he was standing in the dark, in the pouring rain, staring at Sara's figure through a window. He tried to nod to passerbies in reassurance, but only received apprehensive glances in return and he waited to see if they would take out their cell phones and call the police on him. Taking a deep breath, he ignored the passing glares and stepped onto the front steps. His fist was poised in the air, ready, but not quite, to knock on the door. He paused another moment and took another deep breath. His fist came down on the door and he waited on the steps for her to answer. His hand ran through his hair, combing away some of the moisture that was dripping from his locks and down his face. He waited on the step, soaked to the bone, feeling both anxious and exhilarated.

He stepped back when the door opened partially inwards. Sara's face peeked through the crack and he gazed upon her stunned expression with softness in his features. The door opened fully and she stared at him. His eyes pierced into hers, holding them with such an intensity, neither could turn away. Sara's hands came to his shoulders and she leaned forward, but he stopped her before she could kiss him. He shook his head softly and blocked out the confusion and hurt in her eyes, instead, reaching up to his shoulder, he took her hand. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, wiping away the moisture gathering there, and pulled her onto the steps. Ignoring the cold and the chill settling in, he led her to the street and let the rain wash over them together. He turned her to face him, his eyes still holding the same intensity, and ran his hands up and down her warm arms, staring into her eyes until she had to turn away. When he face dropped, he tilted her chin back up so that he could meet her eyes again. Glancing from the sky to her, his eyes searched hers. She nodded and he knew that she could sense that he finally understood what she'd been doing and what she'd needed to do all those months ago when she tried to hold him in the rain. He gathered her into his arms and held her in his embrace, letting the sky pour over them as the street lights around them lit back up.

He could have held her in the rain forever, but he felt her shiver and reluctantly released her. He stepped back and stared into her eyes again, seeing his soul reflected in them. She glanced away quickly before looking back and speaking softly, "What are you doing?"

"I'm staring into eternity."

Her laugh was small and quiet, but he smiled and led her back to her open door. She closed the door behind him and he removed his shoes, noticing she'd followed him out into the rain in her bare feet. He looked at the rest of her figure. She was wearing only a small t-shirt and capri pants, yet she let him lead her into the rainy, puddle clad streets without resistance. Amazed by her yet again, he followed her into the house and sat down on the chair she'd been sitting in earlier, watching as she kneeled in front of him, resting her hands on his thighs. His hands ran through her wet hair as she looked up at him. "You're here."

"Yeah." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the compass she'd given him for his birthday. "This led me here."

She smiled and let out another soft laugh before rising on her knees and kissing him. He pulled her up to him, deepening the kiss before breaking it and resting his forehead on hers. Sara perched herself on the arm of the chair and his arm came around her, holding her in place on the arm.

As they sat, he let his eyes travel around the room. It was small but cozy, with a sofa and a chair, a bookshelf full of books, and a wood fireplace warming the small room. His eyes wandered over the bookshelf, spotting _Sons and Lovers_ amongst them. He looked away and to the small table beside him. Reaching onto it, he picked up the book she was currently reading. "_A Thousand Splendid Suns_?"

"Yeah."

"You read this when you came out of the hospital."

"More like you read it to me. I couldn't even hold the book up with one hand."

He smiled softly before his gaze drifted back to the book on the bookshelf. He sighed and quietly asked, "Do you still believe we're Paul and Miriam?"

Her eyes were on him as they studied him and she pondered the question. He watched as her glance drifted from him, to _Sons and Lovers_, to _A Thousand Splendid Suns_. Her gaze landed on him again. No…no, I think, I hope, we're more like Tariq and Laila, you know, overcoming so much separately, but finding their way back to each other and always accepting each other for who they are, finally healing together."

Grissom smiled again and pulled her down to him. "Sara, you're Laila and so much more." He paused and traced over her eyebrows with his thumb, losing himself in her wide brown eyes. For the first time in his memory he found the words that had always eluded him in her presence. "You're Elizabeth Bennett, captivating me with your natural beauty, stubborn will, your strength and your intelligence. You're Beatrice and the promise of you helped me navigate through the darkness of hell and purgatory. You're Penelope, never waivering, but waiting patiently and faithfully for far longer than is fair for any man to ask or to expect."

"It's not hard when you're waiting on the best of men."

He scoffed. "You were never waiting on the best of men."

She kissed him softly. "I was and I would have waited forever."

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stared up at her. "Sara…Penelope…I love you."

Sara's smile was radiant. He kissed her, longer and with more passion than before. They separated and he stood up, guiding her off of him. He made his way to the window, looking out at the rain. The lights flickered and died again, but the room was still lit by candlelight. He glanced around the room, and then back to Sara, who was now standing beside him. "Sara, are you happy here?"

Her gaze moved from him to the room and back to him. She reached for his hand and held it in hers. "I could be." Dropping his hand, her arms crossed over her stomach, her face turned back towards the window and her voice grew quiet. "What about you, Gil? Do you think you could be happy here?"

He looked out the window at the rain and thought of the Puget Sound and the northern forests and the ocean, but they didn't matter. Turning, he glanced around the dimly lit room and saw a home, cozy and comfortable, but it was a home he could build nearly anywhere. His gaze moved to Sara and he knew, with absolute certainty where he wanted to be. He smiled softly and lifted her hand back up, playing with her fingers. "Yes." Her eyes met his and he could see the questions and the awe in them. He kissed her fingers. "I could be very happy here." She smiled and he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her front as her back rested against him. The lights flickered on and off, and drops of water from their cloths and hair dripped to the floor, but he didn't notice. Closing his eyes, he only felt Sara, warm and at home in his arms.


End file.
